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heliads · 3 years

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Rainstorm

Y/N and Newt have been best friends ever since she arrived in the Glade. However, she might find that her feelings over the blond boy have changed, especially after the events of a rainy day.

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There’s a great clamoring around you, the tearing and shrieking of metal. You feel like your head is being pounded by an anvil, and you clap your hands to your skull, desperate to stop the pain. You realize you’re moving, the floor beneath you swaying as it is dragged up by some unseen chain. There are boxes around you, crates of something that you can’t see in the dark. The worst part isn’t the echoing din, or the insufferable darkness lit by sporadic bursts of fluorescents. The worst part is that you have no idea how you got here.

After a couple of seconds, you force yourself to stand up straight and look around. There are boxes littering the ground, yes, but you’re in a larger box yourself. Is that what this lurching, moving metal room is? There are four walls and a ceiling that seems to press in on you with every waking second. Just as you come to this conclusion, the room stops moving with a sudden jolt that sends you to the ground. Panic crests over you and you throw yourself to the edge of the room, hiding behind the stacks of boxes just as the ceiling is lifted away.

Bright, overwhelming sunlight flows into the room like a wave. You squint, careful not to make a sound even as your eyes water from the sudden light. You can see the dim silhouettes of a group of people standing over the room, looking in on you. They must not see you, because you can hear dim snatches of conversation being tossed back and forth in the space above you. “Shouldn’t there be a greenie? Where’s the new kid?” You have no idea what a greenie is, but you do have a sickening feeling that they’re expecting someone, someone who will turn out to be you.

After another moment of indecision, a boy jumps down into the room, causing the floor to shake slightly from the impact. He peers between the crates. Your breath comes harsh in your chest as you realize he must be looking for you. Your hand closes around something in an open box, and as you pull it out slowly, you realize your fingers are clenched around the grip of a knife. It’s not much, but at least you have a weapon.

The boy calls out to you now. “Hey, we know you’re there. There’s always someone in the Box. You can come out now, we’re not going to hurt you.” He takes a couple of steps closer, and you realize there’s no getting out of this. Might as well use the advantage of surprise while it’s still in your court. You stand up suddenly, stepping away from the shelter of the boxes. You point your knife towards the boy’s throat. For a second, the two of you stand there- you with your blade, him with a look of surprise coating his eyes.

Now that you’re both standing in the sunlight, you can see more of him. This boy has light dirty blond hair and warm brown eyes. His hands rise by his sides the second he sees your knife. “Hey, there’s no need for that. We’re not trying to hurt you.” Then his brow furrows and he takes a step forward, surprise overwhelming his previous hesitation. “Wait. You’re a girl.” You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be a girl?” The boy glances up at the silhouettes of the others still standing over the box. “Back off, guys. She’ll be fine.”

He looks back at you. “Let’s start this over. My name is Newt. You’re in the Glade now, with a few other shanks. I’m just surprised because they’ve never sent a girl up before, that’s it. Now, can you please put down the knife? What would you do with it, anyway?” You keep the blade up, feeling slightly defensive. “I could use it.” Newt lowers his hands, humor outweighing any sense of self-preservation. “For what?” You gesture with the blade. “To, I don’t know, stab someone. It’s a knife, what else would I do?”

Newt grins. “Maybe not stab me? We’re going to be here for a while, I’d appreciate it if you didn't kill me immediately.” You lower the blade at last, reaching over to put it back in a nearby box. “I’ll consider it.” Newt offers you a hand to help you out of the Box. “Can I help you up? You can trust me, you know.” You consider him for a second, taking in everything you know about the boy. He looks at you encouragingly, smiling with all the peaceful freedom of a dove, and you relent. After a second, you stand blinking in the sunlight, turning in a slow circle to stare at the massive walls surrounding you. “What is that?” Newt comes to stand beside you. “That’s the Maze. Keeps us all stuck in here. Once a month, the Box sends up some new sap. This time it’s you.”

You glance around you at the other boys pretending to do their work. “There’s not that many people here. How long has this been going on?” Newt shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure. Maybe six months or so? Alby’s been here longest, he’ll have a better answer. Alby’s in charge here, by the way. I’m second in command.” You nod. “And you really don’t have any other girls here? That’s awful.” Newt laughs. “Don’t worry about it. I have a feeling you’re going to fit in just fine around here.”

Newt, as it turns out, is right. You talk and laugh with the other Gladers like you’ve known them your entire life. Conversation flows freely that first day, and after a few hours, you already remember your name, taking joy in turning it over in your head like a smooth stone from the river. You make fast friends with Minho, the runner, after he hears the story of how you nearly stabbed Newt back in the Box. Alby talks Glade politics with you, Gally seems to tolerate you far more than the others. However, your closest friendship will always be with Newt.

Maybe it’s because he was the first friendly face you saw, the reason you ever agreed to enter into the Glade at all. Maybe it’s because Newt hands away his trust like a gift, free of charge. You couldn’t stray from him if you tried. You exchange quick chats and stupid jokes in between shifts, and you find that you look forward to every minute shared with the blond second-in-command.

One day, Newt and his track-hoes are forced to give up their gardening to retreat underneath haphazard awnings from an encroaching rainstorm. Even the builders have hurried away, trading in their bricks and wooden slats for the dry cover of the few buildings in the Glade. You lean against a tree conveniently growing underneath a cloth shelter, eyes alight as you watch the rain pour down over the Glade. A faint smile plays on your lips. Newt walks up beside you, an eyebrow raised as he takes in your peaceful expression.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone look this happy over a bloody thunderstorm. We’re all forced indoors and we can’t do anything, and you look like someone’s just won you a million pounds.” You turn to face him, grinning. “I just think it’s nice. You’re the track-hoe, I thought you’d be happier about it. If it doesn’t rain, all your plants die. Honestly, we should both be celebrating.” Newt shakes his head in horror. “You’re ridiculous. I mean, look at Gally. He seems like he’s going to kill somebody just because of a few clouds.”

You reach out a hand, feeling the burst of the fat raindrops against your palm. “You want me to be like Gally and hate everything in the world? Not a chance.” Newt watches you, an amused expression entertaining itself on his lips. “I’m not asking for that, I’m asking you to stop looking so excited about a rainstorm. You’re making the rest of us look like miserable downers.” You grin at him. “Maybe you are. Have you considered that?”

You crane your head out from the awning, gazing up as the drops rain down upon you. “I’m going out there. Come with me.” Newt scoffs. “And be soaking for the rest of the day? Not a chance.” You look at him, a mock pout tainting your eyes with incredible sorrow. “It’ll be fun. Not everyone has to be a miserable downer, you know.” You reach out to grab his hand and pull him into the rain, but Newt dodges your grasp. Instead, your hand darts down to his pocket, and you steal his prized pocketknife, holding it up teasingly before him. Newt lunges for it, but you run out into the rain-drenched clearing, forcing you to run after him.

Newt’s carried this one knife around with him for what feels like forever. He uses it for everything- gardening, threatening greenies, lending it to Chuck for the boy’s latest carving project. It won’t rust in the rain, but it will be important enough to him so that he’ll follow you out into the storm, away from his shelter. You sprint through the clearing, Newt chasing after you. You can hear him shouting. “You’re a terrible friend, Y/N, you know that?” You risk a glance backwards, feeling a laugh bursting on your tongue when you realize he’s only a few feet away from you. “That’s just mean!”

Eventually, he catches up to you, reaching out an arm to stop you in your tracks. You come to an abrupt stop, still doing your best to hold the knife away from him. Newt laughs to see your last-ditch efforts. “You’re insane, you know that? Absolutely insane.” You beam at him, feeling the rain pour down over you. “Maybe so.” Newt lunges for the knife and the sudden shift in balance makes you slip on the soaking wet grass. Newt leans over, catching you, and for a second you feel like you’re frozen in that moment, his arms around your waist and the rain pounding around you.

Then he’s straightening up, knife held triumphantly in his palm. “Told you I’d get it back.” You grin at him. “That wasn’t the point. We’re both out here now.” Newt looks up, as if finally realizing that you’ve goaded him into leaving the tent. He tosses a playful glare your way. “I thought we were friends.” You laugh. “We are. That’s why we’re having such a good time.” You tilt your head up towards the sky, taking in the crisp, clear freshness of the rain. Newt groans, but you can see the smile he’s unsuccessfully trying to hide. “Maybe it isn’t that bad. Not all of it.”

When you look back, you see his smile, the rain pressing his hair against his face. You can feel your own breath coming sharply in your chest after the running, the cool of the rain against the heat in your cheeks. You’ve never felt this way around him, and you can’t figure out what it means until that night, when you lie awake for hours, mind still turning around the storm from earlier. The truth comes to you after a while, letting itself in without so much as a knock. You love Newt, no matter how much you’d like to hide it.

The only problem is that Newt would never feel the same way about you. He constantly refers to you as his friend, even his best friend, and that’s all you’ll ever be. The fault lies solely with you, for falling in love with such a sunbeam of a boy and expecting that he’d look back at a matchstick of a girl, someone who’d light up only to die out seconds later. The only thing you can do is try to get over your little crush, hoping you can snuff it out like a candle.

This proves to be more difficult than you’d thought. Your first attempt is to just forget the whole thing ever happened. This plan runs into the ground as soon as you look at him the next morning, and feel all of your heart’s pounding rush over you. Your only idea after that is to edge slightly away from him. Maybe the distance will keep your mind from turning to him, from falling in love so easily. You still sit with him at mealtimes with all your other friends, but you don’t run to him at every break. Honestly, this is for the best. He probably thought you were too clingy anyway, this is just making things even better.

Yet it still hurts when you feel his absence, like a phantom limb that should have always stayed by your side. Maybe you’re just kidding yourself, but you could swear that Newt looks for you when you’re not there, like there’s a one in a million chance that he just might feel the same way. After about a week of this, you’re sitting in a quiet, empty part of the Glade on a rest break when Newt approaches you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just sits down right next to you. From the second you saw him, you noticed the crease in his brow, the look of unhappiness that seemed to permeate his every movement. Whatever he’s about to say, it won’t be good.

Newt fixes you with a quiet stare. “Why are you avoiding me?” The question, so blunt and straight-forward, demands an answer. You’re not sure that you want to provide one, so you try to steer away from his interrogation. “What are you talking about? We sit at the same tables at meals. We talk all the time, actually. We’re talking right now.” It’s a nothing answer, and Newt knows it. “We’re talking now because I came up to you. We used to spend a lot more time together, and then you decided that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

Your eyes widen. “That’s not what I thought at all! I-” You break off, wishing you could hold your tongue for once in your life. You almost gave it all away. Newt sees this sudden silence and presses it. “You what? I was closer to you than I was to anyone else in the Glade, and now I barely see you a couple of times per day. There’s always a reason, Y/N, and I would like to know why.” You sigh, but keep your mouth shut. Maybe he’ll hate you right now, but it will be better than the disappointment and even disgust when he finds out that someone he sees as a sister has fallen in love with him.

Newt’s voice is quiet. “I guess this was a mistake. You what, regretted all of this? You’re trying to pretend that we were never friends?” Your eyes flash. “I never regretted a thing. I loved you, and it was a stupid mistake that I’m trying to fix. Is that what you wanted to hear?” There’s silence for one heartbeat, two. You look away, furious with yourself. Then there’s a hand on your cheek, guiding your face back to his. Newt’s lips are on yours now, and you stifle a gasp of surprise.

At last, he breaks away, a smile dancing across his face. “You could have said that a lot earlier, you know.” You stare at him. “You liked me? You actually-” Newt chuckles softly. “Have for a while. I was trying to tell you, but you made it so bloody difficult sometimes.” You feel like you can’t think straight. “I can’t believe I never figured that out.” Newt’s smile is intoxicating. “I’m glad you know now. Makes it a lot easier to do this.” When he kisses you again, it’s even more breathtaking than the first.

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peakyblindersxx · 3 years

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whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby fluff #john shelby series #john shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinder fanfic #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader

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starilicious · 3 years

Text

der lagi lekin (hunter x force-user!gn! reader + ep. 8 fix-it)

》 summary: tbb episode 8 fix-it featuring a force-user reader who used to be a jedi. reader is a part of tbb and in a relationship with hunter, but the squad–nor hunter–knows that reader is a force-user. (disclaimer: all of this was written before episode 9 was released! see a/n for an explanation ^_^) (another disclaimer: if you want just the hunter x reader comfort, please let me know and i'll finish it up and post it!)

》 word count: ~8k (yeah, it's a lot LOL)

click here to read on AO3

》 warnings: in-universe swearing, mental breakdown, some slight sensory overloads, pretty mild panic attack, light canon-typical violence, angst + some comfort, survivor's guilt from surviving order 66, no use of y/n, slightly plot heavy because i got way too carried away in writing (whoops?) [if i should add more warnings, please let me know!]

》 spoilers: major ones for tbb episode 8 "reunion"

》 a/n: okay look, i gotta confess: this wasn’t supposed to be an episode 8 fix-it. really. i’m actually glad cad bane won because we get to see that the clones don’t always win every fight... i think it makes for a better and more complex story. anyway, i started out writing just reader and hunter comfort after episode 8 ended. but i’m weak for omega because she reminds me so much of my younger siblings and i ended up writing a wholeass fix-it to save her (even tho cad bane is a downright badass). i kind of liked what i did with building up the plot so much that i might continue this story of force-user!reader with tbb. but that’s a tangent we can deal with later. if you would like a part two with the hunter x reader comfort this was originally intended to be, let me know!

as i said in the summary, i wrote all of this before episode 9 came out–just be aware of that. because it’s so long, it took me a while to edit, which is why i’m posting after ep. 9 was released. but without further ado, i hope you like it! <33

》 misc. notes:

• title of the fic is from the hindi song "der lagi lekin" from the film zindagi na milegi dobara. i linked the song in blue and linked the english translations in green in case you're curious! it's not necessary to listen or understand the song, but i thought it went well with the fic :)

“Everybody get down!” Wrecker yells. You and the squad immediately do as he instructs, diving towards the ground and covering your head. Stars, I hope this works.

The charges the six of you placed around the gigantic cone that surrounds the core cylinder explodes in a deafening blast. You curl into the tightest ball you can manage, breathing so hard that the HUD inside your helmet temporarily fogs up. Metal shards of the explosion rain down on you hard.

For a moment, it seems like nothing happened. But then you hear the telltale, ear-grinding creak of the durasteel and the squad is roughly catapulted forward from the force of the cone beginning to fall down.

You struggle to stand up as you lurch this way and that, trying to regain your balance and stabilize as Tech calls out, “Hold on!”

You quickly glance at the rest of the Bad Batch, trying to see if any of them were hurt. Other than the absolutely terrified look on Omega’s face, all is well considering the circumstances. The metal groans and begins its descent, taking your feeling of being grounded with it. The weightlessness is uncomfortably familiar to say the least, but you ignore it as the six of you scramble to hold on to the side of the cone. You certainly did your fair share of acrobatics back in the war, but feeling it hum around you...it’s too much. It’s too much. You elect to push it back into the depths of your brain. But it doesn’t leave.

It never really does.

Omega’s anxious whimpers come in faintly through your thick helmet and you whip around, frantically trying to find where she is. But before you can find her, the cone lands vertically on its head and the force is so violent that your stable hold on the durasteel is broken. Panicked, you quickly fire a grappling hook towards the ledge where you were previously hanging on. The hook catches and you stop abruptly, the jerky movement almost wrenching your arm out of its socket.

You look down to see Omega falling from someone’s grip and into Hunter’s arms. You can barely tell where anyone is thanks to the lack of light and the incessant motion.

The cone begins to topple onto its side and suddenly, your wire snaps from the tension. You let out a scream of surprise as you plummet downwards, wind rushing past your helmet. ForceIdon’twanttodieohmyMakerohno–

But you never hit the ground, instead being flung sideways as the cone tears into two. On trained instinct, you tuck yourself into a ball to try and roll in order to break your fall instead of using it. That time is long gone.

You land with a sickening thud and hiss in pain as your back hits the metal hard. You hear something crack, but whether it is your armor or something internal, you have absolutely no idea, and don’t have time to check before you black out.

✧✦✧

You jolt awake, a sound making its way into your consciousness. Finally, the damn place stopped moving. You take a few minutes to try and relieve the painful pressure in your chest, reaching up to rip your helmet off because you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe.

You tilt your head back as you struggle to take in air and let the adrenaline subside. You hear voices in the distance and you strain your ears to pick up on the sound as you quickly check yourself over. As far as you can tell, nothing major is broken, and at this point, that is all that matters. Though, your head is pounding, and for more reasons than one

“–nter.. port side... what… status?”

You can’t tell who is speaking, the message too far away for you to hear. But the bits and pieces are enough for you to know that it’s someone from the Bad Batch and that you weren’t unconscious for long. You stand up and dust yourself off before slowly walking to where you believe the origin of the sound is.

“–engine… got company.” A blaster sound and then an explosion rings through the quiet.

Your eyes widen and you quickly pick up the pace, getting your blaster ready as you pick your way through the sharp metal that is jutting out from the ground.

You click on your wrist comm. “Echo, you there?” A faint crackle before his voice comes through, but the signal is scratchy. You frown in frustration.

“–are you? Hunter is... port side,” Echo says and you smack your commlink to try and get the electronics to work, but it’s no use. The device is broken, most likely from the fall, you deduce.

“Meet… Marauder.”

You don’t bother to answer, knowing Echo would probably not even be able to hear what you had to say anyway. Without a signal booster or repeater, there’s no way you can get your transmission across the channel frequency.

It takes a few minutes, but you eventually find the night sky of Bracca blinking down at you at the end of the ripped off cone. You run out to find that you’re in the middle of where the cone broke in half. Okay, new plan. I need to find Hunter. Hunter will know what to do.

You scan your surroundings. The HUD isn’t picking up on any lifeforms near you, and you realize with sinking dread that you have no more options. Whichever piece you climbed through to get to your squadmates, it would take too long for you to search for them since you don’t know their coordinates and your comm isn’t working. Frankly, the Empire–Crosshair–would find you first. You have to use it.

You have to use the Force.

A wave of nausea overcomes you at the mere thought of it and you sway. In an attempt to ground yourself, you tear off your helmet to breathe some fresh air and end up keeling over as the bile rises in your throat. Nothing comes out. You can’t tell if that’s a positive or not.

You could have saved them. Someone. Anyone.

It itches at you in the back of your head, wishing to be let out of its cage. But you can’t. You can’t do it. What’s the use anyway? All you would be doing is saving yourself. The choice of surviving it all has haunted you ever since. Your head pounds in agony.

You saw it happen. You could have helped them. And you ran like a coward. Only ever concerned about yourself.

You inhale sharply as the scene flashes before your eyes, clones shooting at you and the other Jedi. The blaster fire. The confusion. The screams.

How pathetic.

The last statement, an echo of Crosshair’s words, bounces around in your brain. You clutch your head as you let out a heartbroken sob, knee deep in the dirt and metal and grief. Tears create clean tracks down your face as you finally break down, the flood of emotions bursting the dam open. At this point, you don’t know if the emotions are yours or the ones you previously felt through the Force, all of them swirling and blending into one. The bottled up anguish merged together when you attempted to cut yourself off from the Force after the clones–your friends–attacked.

The pain of their death is perhaps the worst of all. Horror courses through you as you finally process your friends and mentors dying around the galaxy, their deaths, their distress, their fear reverberating heavily throughout the Force. Each one cripples you further as you once again struggle to breathe.

It feels like light years pass when you finally calm down to a practically numb state of being. The scenes stop replaying behind your closed eyelids and the echoing shrieks die down to a faint, hollow whisper. You’re suddenly exhausted, limbs heavy and energy sapped. It was almost relieving to finally let the Force once again flow through your body, your nerves lightly tingling with potential despite how tired you feel. You collapse onto the ground and try to recenter yourself.

But despite finally acknowledging the loss, it doesn’t feel right. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You hadn’t been able to even think about them, much less honor them, too focused on going on the run to concentrate on anything beyond the next day’s survival. Even once you joined the Bad Batch, you were paranoid about their chips, about your friends turning on you at any moment. You were always extremely reluctant to engage in the Force, even at the worst of times.

With a start, you realize that you don’t need to worry about your squadmates. Their inhibitor chips are now gone. You… you are safe.

You let out a shocked laugh as it sinks in. A glimmer of hope, of peace. I’m safe.

You sit up then, criss-crossing your legs as you survey the broken landscape of Bracca. Despite the planet being a graveyard, you feel lucidly alive. Perhaps something died in you, that wretched day. But something else, slowly but surely, began growing in its place. It’s meek, but it’s there.

You let out a breath and close your eyes, reaching for the Force like it’s an old friend. It accepts your invitation with hesitation, joining hands with you as if you did not try beating it to death for days on end. You sink into the gentle lapping waves of the Force, extending into it and widening your scope.

There’s something that lurks beneath the surface, in the deep. Dark and sinister and so utterly painful. It calls to you, quiet and low. Enticing. Tempting. And something in you knows that it’s the reason for your previous life’s demise.

But you can feel Hunter’s–and Omega’s, you realize–presence near you in the Force. Even with your relatively damaged connection to the Force after Order 66, the Bad Batch’s Force auras were something you could always hone in on. You let yourself direct your focus to the duo, letting their emotions be your beacon to the acceptance of the Light side of the Force.

In a split second, you decide to not dive deeper into the Force. This isn’t the place nor the time to discover what is prowling in the endless yawning of the Force, to discover why everything happened. So you direct your concentration to the beings on the planet, feeling and breathing your way through the Life Force.

You freeze. There’s something here. No… someone. Your eyebrows furrow as you divert your attention away from your friends and other organisms to the peculiar source. Something about this person strikes you as familiar.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp. I’m not alone. A Force-sensitive. Someone survived. Giddy beyond belief, you snatch up your helmet and begin trekking your way across the wreckage in the opposite direction of Hunter and Omega before pausing. Whoever this person is doesn’t know about your presence on the planet.

And despite the fear you felt emanating off of them in the Force, you somehow knew they were safe, at least for now. And they would remain so if you have anything to say about it. Maker forbid anything that jeopardizes this person’s fragile safety. After all, you know best what it’s like to constantly flee scene after scene.

Staying away is the best thing to do. I’ll come back for you, whoever you are.

You double back and make quick work of getting across the debris as you focus your concentration on Hunter’s and Omega’s Force signatures. As you get closer to the port side, you hear Omega’s high voice. Through your HUD, you can see her small form. You grin. She disappears then, and on closer inspection, you figure she jumped through some broken cargo doors.

The entrance she and Hunter took is too high for you to jump up to, even with the aid of the Force. Combined with your wariness of probe droids, you decide to take a different route from the right side, climbing up the broken ship. The slick oil mixed with the water still present on the metal makes for a difficult trek, and you slip more times than you would like to admit.

Hunter’s gruff voice floats up towards you and you scramble the last few meters to the edge of a hole in the ceiling before pausing. The Force is itching at the back of your head. Something’s wrong.

You peek over the edge of the giant slab of durasteel that created the hole to see bodies in white armor littered everywhere–clones, you realize. Your heart pangs in sadness at the sight.

Slightly to your right, a blue figure and a techno-service droid stand in front of a ship and a frightened Omega stands behind a defensive Hunter. Your mouth drops open. Kriff.

Cad Bane.

A memory from near the beginning of the war hits you in full force. You and Anakin had taken some time on Coruscant to catch up with each other after you passed your trials and were promoted to Jedi Knight. He told you about a mission where he had to stop a bounty hunter who successfully stole a Jedi holocron. You remember how surprised you were when you heard the bitter disgust in Anakin’s voice. The ruthlessly cunning bounty hunter not only threatened to kill Ahsoka, but he murdered Master Ropal.

Judging by the looks of it, Hunter doesn’t know who he is. If the Anakin Skywalker had a difficult time with Cad Bane, there is no way in sithhell Hunter can take him on, even with his enhanced senses. Frankly, you seriously doubt you can either, especially with how rusty your Force skills are now. And that means this isn’t going to end well.

You watch carefully as you tune into the conversation.

“Ain’t you smart?” Bane smirks. “The kid’s got it all figured it out.”

“You’re in trouble now!” the droid exclaims, pointing at Hunter and Omega. You grit your teeth in annoyance.

“Who hired you?” Hunter asks. Stalling. Not a bad move, Hunter.

“Son,” Bane sighs, already done with the brief conversation. “That’s confidential information. Now hand her over.”

Omega stays behind Hunter, taking a knee as Hunter walks forward protectively. You bristle. How am I supposed to help from up here?

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Your eyes drift over the scene in a panic and you take in the fallen clones again. An idea pops into your head. It is desperate, but at this point, you don’t have much of a choice.

Bane mimics Hunter’s movement, walking forward and putting a hand near his belt. The tension is as thick as duracrete.

“That’s unfortunate… for you.”

You grab the long barrel piece from your belt, fitting it over your blaster hurriedly as the showdown begins. Out of the corner of your eye, you see them staring each other down and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Men.

During the war, Crosshair helped you re-engineer your weapon so you could put together various pieces in the field to make a blaster gun that loosely resembled his own sniper. Seeing the clones reminded you of him. A wave of sadness washes over you, but you shake your head. Now is not the time.

You screw on the telescopic sight and set up your makeshift sniper. You peer through the viewfinder and find Bane’s chest. Your finger tenses over the trigger.

You let yourself sink deep into the Force, let it guide your actions. Inhale. Exhale. I can do this. As you relax, the mellow warmth you missed so dearly washes over you, gently eroding the torment in your mind and heart, guiding your focus to the here and now. Trust in the Force.

Wait.

Now.

You fire two bolts straight into your target the same exact moment Bane and Hunter shoot each other. Hunter’s shot hits the droid, breaking off its leg. Bane’s shot hits directly in Hunter’s chest, as yours did Bane. Both men immediately fall backwards and slam into the ground.

“My booster!” Oh. So not a leg. Got it.

“Hunter!”

Kriff kriff kriff. You jump down nimbly from your hiding spot in the ceiling and immediately sprint towards the duo. Is he dead? You would unapologetically release sithhell on Bane if he killed the man you love.

Omega panics as she tries to wake Hunter up, continuously calling his name before taking a glimpse of her surroundings. Before you can react, she grabs her bow and pulls it taut, aiming at you. She looks petrified.

“Whoa! Omega, it’s me!” you exclaim, holding your hands up in surrender. She takes a moment to actually look at you before sagging in relief. Suddenly, the droid comes speeding out of nowhere and Omega shoots, the energy bolt whizzing past your waist and straight into the droid before it can attack you from behind.

The shot rings true and the grumpy robot falls. You turn around to grab at its exposed parts under its head and yank them out to make sure it can’t power on again.

“Thanks, Omega. I owe you one,” you say and Omega gives you a proud smile.

You place a comforting hand on her shoulder before kneeling down to shake Hunter awake, but it doesn’t work. You take a moment to analyse Hunter’s Life Force. It’s a bit dimmer, but it’s constant, meaning he’s out cold and doesn’t have the life draining out of him. You let out a sigh of relief. He’s alive. You glance back to see Bane still not moving. Good.

“What’re we gonna do?” Omega whispers as you both peer down at Hunter. His armor is smoking from Bane’s blaster shot and you exhale through your teeth, trying to come up with a plan. You slip off a glove to check Hunter’s pulse–it’s strong. You don’t want to leave Omega alone, even if Bane is unconscious, but you aren’t sure you have a choice.

“Well we can’t carry him to safety, neither of us are strong enough for that,” you think aloud, gears churning in your head. You would have to wait for help, even if you were sitting ducks.

Briefly, you entertain the thought of taking Bane’s ship. The only problem is you don’t know what trackers or other gadgets are in there–it’s too costly of a risk and a price you weren’t willing to pay. You sigh, resigned.

“Omega, you try to comm the others and see if you can wake Hunter up. I’m going to go inside this guy’s ship and see if I can find something that can help us. We have to get out of here before the bounty hunter wakes up,” you instruct and Omega nods, youthful determination flooding back into her eyes.

You leave her to it, walking cautiously towards Bane’s ship. You look down at him. His armor is smoking in two places from the shots you fired. Based on what you see, he’s still unconscious, and his Life Force reflects the same conclusion. How long that would remain, you don’t know. Which means you need to work fast.

You board the ship while you remove the sniper attachments from your blaster and clip them back onto your belt. You keep your guard up as you look around. No droids. Guess that techno-service droid is his one and only.

In an effort to slowly re-familiarize yourself with the Force, you send out a quick pulse through it to see if there are any lifeforms aboard the ship, relaxing when you find none. You rummage through all the cabinets that you discover, looking high and low as you try to locate something of use. The secret compartment in the cockpit proves to be the fruitful reward to your search. With a wave of your hand, you unlock it with ease. Bingo.

Credits. Bags of them. And they’re unmarked creds, which make your score even better. Hopefully, it would be enough to pay off your debt to Cid and give the Havoc Marauder some much-needed upgrades.

Usually, you would feel bad about stealing from someone, but considering this was a bounty hunter – Cad Bane, no less – you figure you can risk treading the grey area of your moral code.

You grab as many bags as you’re able, stuffing them inside your backpack and clipping the rest onto your belt. At this moment, you’re incredibly grateful to Tech and Echo for designing a sturdy utility belt that fits you well. The standard ones were for clones and you definitely were not a clone.

You exit the cockpit and head to the second level of the ship to see if there’s anything else you can find. A stack of crates sits in the corner across from what you assume to be a prison. You scrunch your nose in disgust as you open one to find medical supplies. Bacta patches and gel, vitapaste, rations, water, gloves, sanitary napkins–it was all there. Delighted, you close the crate and click the repulsor to make it levitate. Oh how you love technology.

You turn around and walk back up the stairs to leave the ship. You freeze at the exit ramp. You have got to be karking kidding me.

“Sorry lil’ lady.”

Cad Bane stuns Omega in front of your eyes before rounding on you and immediately fires. In a desperate attempt to save yourself, you throw your hands up and the honeyed power of the Force rushes through every fibre of your being. The blaster bolts slow down to a snail-like crawl and your eyes widen. How did I…?

Never mind how you argue with yourself. Time to get out of here!

You tiptoe around each bolt, the effort of keeping them in stasis becoming more difficult with each passing moment. You grit your teeth as your arms shake, but you keep going until you are finally off the ramp. You lower your arms and the energy hits the inside of the ship, spazzing out the blinking controls inside.

Bane turns to you in surprise, astonished at how you’re suddenly in front of him. You don’t give him the luxury of processing the event and immediately punch him in the face with as much strength as you can muster. Bane pitches backwards and collapses onto the ground, just as he did the first time. You grab your stun blaster and shoot him as extra assurance. You really did not want this to repeat again. Hopefully he never wakes up with a memory of what I just did...

“Now stay down,” you mutter to a knocked out Bane, cradling your now injured hand. You have no idea how Wrecker ever does this because wow your hand is killing you.

You have to say, you’re pretty proud of yourself for being able to render him unconscious not once, but two times. You wish you could tell Anakin–the thought saddens you. He’s probably dead too.

With that vividly cheery thought, you stagger back from the ramp in exhaustion, weary from the sudden surge of the Force still ebbing and coursing through your body.

None of the Bad Batch knew you used to be a Jedi–not even Hunter. It was something only a few of your closest Jedi friends and the Jedi Council knew about.

But after what happened today, with Rex helping your squadmates get their inhibitor chips out, with you finally letting the Force in… maybe it is time to tell them. The secrecy wouldn’t be needed anymore now that you were sure you were safe around your friends. But clearly, the universe wanted to throw a nasty vibroblade in your plans by knocking Hunter and Omega unconscious and having the best kriffing bounty hunter in the galaxy be hot on your heels.

You take a few seconds to get your breath back and regain your mental energy. You aren’t out of the woods yet. You run inside Bane’s ship to grab the crate of medical supplies before sprinting back out towards Hunter and Omega.

You lean down and pat Omega’s cheek gently, trying to wake her up, but she’s out cold. Why is everyone around me unconscious? Frankly, you’re equally amused and terrified by the situation laid out in front of you.

You sigh, looking around to see if you can find some cover. There’s a giant sheet of durasteel to your left, big enough to act as a barrier in case trouble comes knocking. You bend down and pick Omega up before placing her down cautiously, leaning her small body against the metal. You repeat the action with the crate you found.

The third time proves to be much more difficult. Hunter certainly isn’t as muscular as Wrecker, but he sure as sithhell isn’t as light as Omega. You tap your foot nervously, trying to figure out a way for you to lift him. Yes, you could use the Force, but you don’t want to alert the other Force-sensitive on the planet. If they knew about your existence, it could put them in danger, and that was the last thing you wanted.

Giving up, you place your hands underneath Hunter’s armpits and effectively drag him all the way over, propping him up as you did Omega. You cringe at the sound of his armor grating the floor. There are sure to be dirty scuff marks on it now. Sorry Hunter.

Just as you’re about to sit down next to him, heaving deep breaths from the exertion, you pause. A warning is practically blaring in the Force and you tense, urgently trying to figure out the cause.

“Not again,” you mumble under your breath. You can’t handle any more action today. With Hunter and Omega both down, and your extreme fatigue from engaging in the Force, you don’t know how much of a fight you can put up. Not to mention you never trained as a soldier. There was a reason why you left the military planning strategies to the Bad Batch.

You hold your blaster close to your chest as you scan the environment. Bane is immobile and so is the dismantled techno-service droid. So what’s wrong?

Ten nerve-wracking seconds pass before you get your answer. Clone voices waft up to your hiding spot and you bite your cheek in frustration as your head continues to pound. Your headache still hasn’t stopped.

There is no way you can fight them all off, especially if Crosshair is with them. They are too far away for you to get a read on how many there are, and frankly, you’re much too scared to even peek around the durasteel to count.

One of Tech’s previous statements floats through your mind. About three attack shuttles worth.

You can feel your heart thumping wildly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as anxiety ties your stomach into knots. I can’t do this, I can’t do this, Ican’tdothis.

You take deep breaths, doing your best to clear your mind and focus. You had to do this. There is no other option other than surrendering or dying. No, damnit, you would go down fighting until the Life Force left you.

You peer just past the edge of the metal to see at least twenty clones heading your way. Certainly not ideal, but you bide your time. If you started shooting now, you couldn’t use the element of surprise to your advantage and they would easily overwhelm you. But once they’re close enough, you hope you can at least take a couple out before having to resort to using the Force. It isn’t ideal, but it’s all you have.

Honestly, you don’t know if you could get out of this one alive, much less protect Hunter and Omega too. Maker help me.

It throws you off when they finally come into sight–you see how plain the clones’ armor looked without paint. You never really noticed it before since you were always running for your life in those circumstances. But now that you think about it, you are so used to seeing bright blue or green or yellow that the alabaster white just seems so… odd.

“Looks like a big fight happened here.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. All these men are dead.”

Now.

You whip your body around the metal and immediately begin shooting as fast as you can pull the trigger, trying to make every shot count. The troopers hesitate for just a moment, most likely due to their surprise of you being there. But that second is all you need.

You take out the three men closest to you before jumping back behind the metal as their barrage of fire rains down on you. You do your best to shoot back and manage to take out one more clone, but they’re beginning to gain too much ground too fast. I can do this. I have to do this.

As far as you can tell, Crosshair isn’t with the clones attacking you, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t set up shop somewhere nearby, waiting to shoot you.

You shudder. It’s a chilling thought.

You grab one of your last detonators from your belt and hurl it as far as you can. The rapid beeping rises quickly in pitch before the charge explodes. Anguished cries reverberate throughout the area, and you briefly feel sorry for having to take such drastic measures as you feel their Force signatures dim swiftly. But you don’t have a choice.

Peeking around the corner, you count around eight to ten clones down. Not bad considering the circumstances.

You continue shooting as much as you can but now the troopers are much too close for comfort and you’re feeling overwhelmed. The durasteel you are using for cover isn’t meant to take this kind of damage, and the integrity of your shield is quickly waning as told by the constant creaks and groans. You don’t know what to do. Will we make it?

In your haste of shooting first and panicking later, you don’t notice Hunter groaning, finally waking up. And before you have time to even glance at him, the familiar hum of the Havoc Marauder and its lights shine down on you. Your sag in relief. Looks like Omega was able to comm them after all. Never before have you been so glad to see the beat-up hunk of junk. (You would never say that to Tech though–the Marauder is his baby, his pride and joy.)

Echo, Wrecker, and Tech all race off the ship, guns ablazing. Wrecker and Tech stand guard, serving as cover fire while Echo bends down to help you out.

“Hunter, wake up!” Echo hisses and smacks his helmet lightly. Hunter mumbles in pain as he starts to move, trying to look around as his HUD boots back up. Seriously? Now you wake up? you think sarcastically. But you’re much more relieved at the fact that he has actually woken up.

“What happened? Where’s Omega?” Wrecker bellows, worried.

“She’s right here, I’ve got her!” you shout back at the same time Echo says, “He was shot in the chest plate.”

You pocket your blaster and gather the young girl in your arms with every last bit of strength you have left. You aren’t strong enough to hold her in one arm and shoot with the other. That is much more up Wrecker’s alley.

“We have to get him on board!” Tech exclaims as he helps Echo support Hunter. You pick Omega up in both arms and bolt for the ship as fast as you can while yelling at Tech to grab the crate of supplies.

“Incoming!” Wrecker calls out as a fresh wave of troopers advance towards the six of you. You grunt as you deposit Omega in a chair near the controls before pulling out your blaster and helping Wrecker shoot down the men racing towards you.

“Got him. Tech, fly us out of here!” Echo commands while Wrecker makes a gesture for them to get on the ship faster. Hunter stumbles as he does his best to upright himself.

“Go go go!” Wrecker exclaims. Tech shoves the crate next to Omega’s seat and makes a beeline for the cockpit as you continue shooting, moving to the side to make space for Echo and Hunter to come on board. Wrecker quickly climbs in right after them and the ramp closes shut.

Tech immediately pilots the Havoc Marauder up and away from the scene. You vaguely hear the sound of blaster fire hitting the bottom of the ship while you drop your blaster on the ground and wrench Hunter’s helmet off in a panic. You take his face in your hands as you scan him quickly, trying to figure out if he’s hurt or not.

Hunter bats your hands away. “He... he took Omega,” he says and you shake your head. Wrecker pipes up from behind you to respond.

“Who? Crosshair?”

“The bounty hunter,” Hunter mutters as he rubs a hand over his face. Before Wrecker can answer again, you step in.

“No, he didn’t. I took him down. And no, he’s not dead,” you tack on quickly when you see Echo open his mouth. Echo shakes his head fondly and you just grin at him.

“She’s right here,” Echo says instead, pointing to Omega’s sleeping figure. Hunter turns in surprise to see that his brother is indeed telling the truth.

“How...?” Hunter’s voice trails off. Echo and Wrecker look at you expectantly, and Hunter follows suit. You sigh and take off your helmet, setting it down on the ledge next to the controls. You don’t look at them.

“It’s a long story.”

You don’t have a chance to elaborate any further because Tech walks in, interrupting the conversation.

“I’ve made the jump to hyperspace. There was a cruiser in the atmosphere, but I was able to quietly go past them by disguising our ship as a bounty hunter’s. They didn’t interfere. I put in the coordinates for Ord Mantell. I estimate our time of arrival to be five hours and thirty two minutes,” Tech reports and Hunter nods while you voice your thanks.

“Looks like we got time!” Wrecker says cheerily, pulling out an extra chair. Tech looks to you in confusion.

“Did I miss something significant?” Tech asks, concerned about the information he did not receive as he adjusts his goggles. You shake your head but now, all eyes are back on you.

“She was just about to tell us how she saved Omega,” Hunter supplies helpfully and Tech nods in understanding. He grabs a chair as well and sits down, interested in hearing what you have to say.

You look around the room, realizing you can’t get out of it. You are exhausted and just want to sleep but based on the looks you are getting from the boys, there is no way you can leave without giving a sufficient answer.

You sit down on a chair in between Omega and Echo and begin explaining.

“When the cone fell, it separated. I got knocked out when I hit the ground, but I don’t think I broke anything,” you quickly reassure as Tech grabs a datapad to scan your vitals.

“After I came to, I tried comming Echo, but my commlink was broken – I could only hear bits and pieces of what he said. There were some voices near me so I just followed them and–” you pause, not sure if you should tell them what happened. What you experienced, what you found out. “–I saw Hunter and Omega. The ledge I found was way too high for me to jump to, so I climbed up the side of the wreckage to see them and the bounty hunter facing off,” you say, choosing to leave the detail out. It was too personal. You still needed time.

All of them are listening intently, hanging on to every word you’re saying. Hunter’s gaze on you is heavy and loaded with questions. Tech is still tapping away on the datapad, but you know you have his full attention. Multitasking may not be possible for regular humans, but it definitely was for Tech.

“When I saw the bounty hunter, I knew Hunter wasn’t going to win,” you mumble sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. Hunter winces at your statement and you rush to explain why.

“Hunter, you have to trust that I genuinely don’t doubt your abilities. You are much more of a soldier than I will ever be. But this bounty hunter is one of the best, if not the best in the entire galaxy. He’s gone against the Jedi, and won. Based on what Anakin told me at the beginning of the war, Cad Bane is ruthless. He tortured Master Ropal and killed him. Believe it or not, I think he tried to abduct Chancellor Palpatine. Even Anakin had a difficult time fighting him.”

A tense quiet settles over you all as you mentally revisit your conversation with Anakin, and later with Ahsoka. She told you how it was one of the first times she was genuinely afraid that she was going to die, or at least get hurt very severely.

Echo’s rough voice shakes you out of your reverie. “How do–did you know General Skywalker?” he asks, clearly confused at how you referred to him on a first-name basis. You mentally facepalm yourself. How did I forget he served as part of the 501st? You feel incredibly stupid.

You could make up a lie, of course, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Hunter’s enhanced senses and Tech’s vitals scan could probably pick up on your biological signs, not to mention you would feel terribly guilty about not being honest. I promised myself I would tell them…

You blow out a nervous breath, deciding to at least give them something. They deserved that much.

“I’m–well, I was a Jedi,” you admit, staring down at your feet. You can’t bring yourself to look at them, feeling almost… ashamed.

The boys are shocked into silence and you cringe. There was probably a much better way for you to say that, but now it was out there. Yet the pressure that had been weighing down on you since you let the Force back in didn’t lessen.

“What?” Wrecker questions, thrown completely for a loop. “You’re a Jedi?”

Before you can answer, Tech pipes up. “When I reviewed your medical data, there was no note about an elevated midi-chlorian count or any sort of connection to the Force. Additionally, there is no documentation of you serving as a General or a Commander during the war in the Republic military records. How were you a Jedi? And why aren’t you one now? You used past tense in your sentence,” Tech adjusts his goggles as he attempts to register this new information that conflicted with his previous knowledge.

You sigh, drumming your fingers on your thigh. “I left the Jedi Order before the war ended. I promise I’ll explain everything in detail later, but for now, you have to understand that I’m just a Force-user. I trained as a Jedi, but I’m not a Jedi, not anymore,” you clarify, lifting your head up to make eye contact with each of them.

“Aw man, that’s so cool. You have to show us your cool mind tricks sometime!” Wrecker smiles and you agree to his request. It warms your heart to see him so excited.

“It makes sense. You must have seen the regs turn on the Jedi but didn’t know why. When you started traveling with us, you didn’t know if we would turn on you too, even though we’re not regs,” Hunter realizes, and you nod in affirmation. You’re secretly relieved by the fact that he doesn’t seem angry, just… just thoughtful.

“And then when I saw what happened to Crosshair, I knew I couldn’t risk ever telling any of you. But when Rex told us about the chips…” you trail off.

Echo picks up your sentence quickly. “You figured out you would be safe with us if we got our chips removed. No wonder you were so insistent on following what Rex said.”

You smile at the last part, a bit embarrassed. He wasn’t wrong. You were probably even more insistent than Rex was on telling them to get their inhibitor chips out. Better to be safe than sorry you told them. Though at the time, you hadn’t even thought about how removing their chips would impact you and your abilities. You were too focused on keeping the Force out of your body to entertain that thought.

Wrecker suddenly gets up and gathers you in a bone-crushing hug. “Well you don’t have to worry now! We got those stupid chips out of our heads, which means I promise we won’t kill you!” he says cheerfully and you can’t help but laugh as you hug him back, the knot in your chest beginning to unravel. You could always count on Wrecker’s wonderfully big heart to raise your spirits.

“You’re right, big guy. It’s honestly a relief. One less thing I have to worry about.”

Wrecker lets go of you and you pick up where you left off. “As I was saying, Cad Bane isn’t a bounty hunter we can take lightly. Crosshair helped me re-engineer my blaster to turn it into a pseudo sniper with attachable parts during the war. Because I was so high up, I could get a clear shot of Bane. From that vantage point, I shot him at the same time Hunter and Bane shot each other.”

Echo’s mouth drops open. “Damn.”

“What I didn’t expect was for Hunter to be rendered completely unconscious. So I told Omega to try to comm you guys while I went on Bane’s ship to see if I could find anything. And I did.” You pull off your backpack and dump out the contents. Bags of credits come tumbling out. You unhook the few bags on your belt and toss them into the pile.

“Bane had a secret compartment with a lot of credits. So I took them and that crate I yelled at Tech to get,” you explain as you reach into the bag to show off the Imperial credits.

Tech’s eyes widen as he lifts up a bag to inspect it. “I will have to calculate how much you took and mark it in the inventory, but based on my initial deduction, this may be enough for us to upgrade the Marauder and provide sustenance for at least a few months.”

“Nice one!” Wrecker compliments and you grin in response. “What’s in the crate?” he asks, walking over to lift up the top.

“Medical supplies. We barely had any left so I figured I might as well take that too,” you shrug as Hunter gets up to join Wrecker to peer at the contents.

“What happened after that? You said you told Omega to comm the others, which means she was awake. Did she get hurt while I was out? Is that why you look so exhausted?” Hunter inquires, astute as ever.

You bite your lower lip. “When I was getting off his ship with the goods, he had woken up again. Before I could do anything, he stunned Omega and then immediately shot at me,” you pause, wondering if you should elaborate on how you got out of the situation. You decide to come clean on this part.

“I… I don’t know how, but I was able to stop the blaster bolts and keep them – and Bane – in stasis with the Force. The problem was that it took a lot out of me. After not really using the Force for so long, my energy reserves were pretty much gone,” you sigh, absentmindedly rubbing your arms. Your muscles are still sore from the event.

“After that, I punched him and knocked him out again. I dragged you and Omega away from the ship so that I could protect you, and I ended up using that giant piece of durasteel as cover to fight off those clones. Then you guys came and rescued us and that’s that,” you finish, suddenly fatigued from the conversation. You slump back into your chair, perfect posture be damned.

“Wow,” is all Echo says, surprised by your strength. It took some serious stamina to be able to withstand so much for so long. Echo remembered seeing Commander Tano and General Skywalker be exhausted after some especially intense missions where they constantly had to use the Force.

“Yeah,” you mutter, massaging your dominant hand. It is still throbbing from the mean hook you threw at Bane. You don’t have any regrets. You glance at Omega’s sleeping figure and soften. The things I would do for this girl.

“Looks like I taught you well!” Wrecker laughs and you smile. When you first met the Bad Batch, Wrecker took it upon himself to teach you basic self-defense and how to overtake an opponent intelligently. Even though you already learned how to fight as part of your Jedi and military training, you couldn’t say no to him when he looked so excited. But it paid off because he’s right. Wrecker did teach you well.

“You did. You basically saved my ass out there with your amazing teaching skills,” you chuckle, glancing down at your hand. You think you’ll probably have to cover it in bacta gel to speed up the healing process before having yet another realization. (You seem to be having a lot of those today.)

I can just Force-heal. Before, you couldn’t Force-heal because it would look suspicious if something healed too fast. But now that they know, you don’t have to solely depend on medical supplies anymore.

Tech, as always, is right on cue. “Is your hand alright? For you to render Bane unconscious must have been no easy feat. Not to mention that according to the medscan I just took, you have a mild concussion, most likely due to your fall. I can run a medical diagnostic test to start and then run more specific tests to combat your pain...” Tech mutters the last part to himself, brain running light years faster than his mouth as his fingers fly over the datapad.

You debate it for a moment before nodding. “That would be great, Tech–thanks. But right now, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go and crash in my bunk. Wake me up if I need to punch someone again,” you joke before shuffling away from your squadmates. You ruffle Omega’s hair affectionately as you pass by her and pick up your blaster from the ground before climbing down the ladder. You don’t notice Hunter’s troubled gaze or how his Force signature sours a bit as you leave.

You quickly clean up and throw on some bacta patches on a few nasty bruises. You sit down on your bed and pull the privacy curtain before deciding to open up your secret compartment next to your mattress. You stare down at the objects, the only things you have left as a reminder of the past. You reach down for one of them, about to touch it when you stop.

You shake your head and shut the drawer. Deciding to finally, finally hit the hay, you’re out like a light as soon as your head hits the pillow. Dealing with the Force and healing yourself could be done later. Not even your constant pain and crippling worry about your family friends could keep you up any longer.

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

Text

One Can Never Escape Destiny

Shan-Yu x Empress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Murder scene (non-graphic)

Genre: Angst, Romance (one-sided)

Summary: After fulfilling his plan of taking over China Shan-Yu and his army have made it to the palace of Empress Y/L/N Y/N. However, one obstacle the warrior still fails to overcome is swaying the Empress herself, getting in her good graces. Unable to kill her, he is left to do all he can to have her spare him as much as a civil word.

Requested by Anon. Hi lovely! Thank you so much for such and amazing and so different request from what I’m used to. This is my first time writing for a Disney character, a villain even, so I hope to have fulfilled your expectations even with it being so late in posting. Please enjoy! Love, Vy ❤

She refuses to eat or see the light of day. She’s been hidden away in a single room of the palace ever since China fell. She attempted to fight and gave her all when her eyes met his poisonous ones and her sword’s blade collided with his. The fight was a difficult one, he had to admit. She would’ve won had she not had a heart of gold. Putting her right-hand man’s under the sharp dagger in his merciless hand left her no choice. She loved that man, he could see it in her eyes. And he wasn’t going to kill the pathetic excuse for a member of the Empress’ council, but seeing that look of devotion and adoration in her gaze when her eyes met with his drove him in a fit of absolute rage. He couldn’t restrain himself and let the blade slide across the man’s neck only after the Empress had surrendered.

“NOOO!“ She had shrieked in terror and sorrow, all her pain audible in her cry that echoed all throughout the palace, piercing the monstrous warrior’s ears. He couldn’t bare to see her so distraught, over another man on top of all, so her ordered his men to take her to one of the chambers and leave her to collect herself. She still had fight left in her though. She escaped from his men’s grasps and overpowered them both until a third one knocked her out cold with the handle of his dagger. A choice of action that landed him the second dead body to be thrown out of the palace that night.

He specifically instructed the man taking Y/N to her chamber to be gentle and caring with her and to leave the door unlocked, maybe even open a crack. He didn’t want her to feel trapped in her own home.

He sat by one of the windows all through the late dark hours of the night and even met the sunrise at dawn. He contemplated so many things, scolded himself even. He had become the ruler of China and yet he had never felt so low and defeated. He even let his mind wander to the option of killing the Empress for his own peace of mind but he knew he wouldn’t be able to the second he realized he wasn’t even able to picture himself doing it. The very though sickened him to his stomach and he was disgusted with himself to have ever allowed himself to think such a thought.

The main thing troubling him was the fact that he didn’t know where such admiration came from. He had never admired nor respected a woman before but he felt the need to bow before her instead of the other way around. He wanted to be her loyal servant, tending to her every need at the bat of her eyelashes. He could barely believe himself either way - killing her or adoring her, they were both thoughts bordering into insanity, he couldn’t tell which was worse. Of course he could, he just wanted to lie to himself. He knew he could never lay a hand on her.

Shan-Yu had fallen under the spell of the very Empress he was supposed to end in order to fulfill his evil plans.

He should want her dead while he’s prepared to kill whoever dares even wish her harm. Funny how destiny works. Or perhaps this is karma punishing him for his evil ways by putting one bump in the road right in front of him - one so easy to get rid of in theory, but he could never commit to it.

It has been four full days since that fateful night and he hasn’t heard nor seen her. He’s not willing to disturb her peace and earn himself an injury from the infuriated Empress but the hours of overthinking, contemplating and self-battling are weighing heavy on him. His men are beginning to notice, although they’d never say anything - they may be cruel, dumb fools but they respect their lives enough to not put them at a risk like that. Not even a risk, more like certain death. They all obeyed his orders of bringing the Empress food three times a day every day and they all witnessed the defeat and worry that washed over their leader’s face whenever they brought back the dishes untouched hours after they had delivered them.

So, after a lot of self-convincing and doubting, Shan-Yu has bitten the bullet - he is walking the halls to the Empress Y/L/N Y/N’s chamber. He makes it to her door sooner than he’d like, his confidence is not fully built. His composure could easily be shaken. His words are scrambled and even if he could form coherent sentences, he knows they die in his throat.

‘Pull yourself together, you pathetic mutt‘ He scolds himself for the hundredth time in the past hour. Easier said than done, though. She’s a woman of incredible strength, power and character. She was respected by every individual in China, not a single soul looked down upon her. They had already hated him, but now that he has allegedly put their dear Empress in misery, he’d be dead along with his army if they weren’t so strongly feared.

Shan-Yu brings himself to knock on the chamber doors, his voice a faint echo through the massive hallway when he calls out, “Empress, may I enter?”

No answer, as he expected. He is half expecting to not even be there, to have escaped. He knows her better than that though.

Cautiously pushing the door open, he’s met with a dark room only lit by the moonlight seeping in through a small rectangular window directly opposite the door. He sees her silhouette in the windowsill. She’s sitting facing away from him, looking out of the window at the rooftops underneath the clear, starry night sky. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to acknowledge his presence, also as expected.

A small detail he notices sends shivers down his spine - there are metal bars on her window. Why?

“I was a rebellious child. I knew my destiny before even understanding what it meant. All I knew was that I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to be Empress. I wanted to be one of those brave souls who were prepared to leave to a front knowing they might not return.“ Her voice rings through the cold, dark space, bouncing off the walls in a haunting manner, enchanting him. “My father knew I would be more than capable of running away so I was frequently spending plenty of time here, locked up. As I am now.“

She is still facing away from him but he still shakes his head as though she could see him. “You are not locked here, Empress Y/N. The door is always open. This palace is still yours.”

“That you are right about.“ Y/N’s head turns finally and his heart drops.

She is pale, eyebags weighing heavy under her tired eyes. Her hair is covering her face but her pale complexion is more than visible even from behind her locks. She looks like she has been crying, not that she’s a woman who cries often. A tear of hers has the same value as a bar of gold.

She continues. “Chu Bao, the man you killed in front of my very eyes, was the only man I’ve ever loved and the only person who saw me as more than my title. I’m not just an Empress! Everyone forgets that!“

He feels hurt by her remark, “Y/N, I know. I know better than anyone. I have overtaken all of China and yet you are my greatest prize...”

She cuts him off, her shaky hands pushing her hair to the side so she can look directly at him, her crystal eyes meeting his menacing yellow ones with such intensity he feels it almost like a physical presence. “I am no prize, you monster! I’m a person who destiny played wrong! I given a role I have never been happy with. But I had to play it to maintain the honor of my family and of China as a whole. It taught me a valuable lesson: No matter the tries, one can never escape destiny. So...” she trails off, her eyes losing their feisty glow as she turns back to the window, “I embraced it and became one with my land, this palace, my title. And I will stay one with them till my death. Now, leave! And don’t bring me food anymore. Don’t check on me. I want it all to end the way it started - in this palace, in this chamber. I want to go out with the last bit of dignity I have. If nothing, I will die without ever bowing to you. I may have surrendered, but consider this me prolonging the fight.” He hears her scoff, a humorless chuckle, “The moment I die will be the moment I win.”

Shan-Yu has never been a man to live to face defeat. He always defeats the defeat, stands up taller than ever whenever he’s been brought down. Now is different, however. His defeat is inevitable. It hasn’t even happened yet, but he knows the battle’s lost. His hands are tied. He would never disobey a wish of Y/N’s nor could he live with her slowly dying. He cannot keep her alive against her will, and he can’t end it all quickly for her either.

She has already won, but she’s not aware.

Empress Y/L/N Y/N has defeated the monstrous, villainous conqueror Shan-Yu twice in her life: once when she had him fall in love with her and again when she chose to put an end to her life, leaving him powerless.

All he can do now is accept his defeat and allow for Y/N to become nothing but a battle scar on his heart.

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spookyboywhump · 3 years

Text

Passing Out From Pain

Dogs= complete, X’s= Requested

Also known as Wren’s Branding Two Electric boogaloo. This takes place after This Piece and This Piece, Cain makes good on his promise :)

Character: Wren

Fandom: Original Work

Word Count: 2263

CW: Branding, pet whump, dehumanization, drugging mention, strangulation mention

***

He knew what was going to happen the second Cain entered the room that morning. He’d been up all night dwelling on it, trying to make his peace with it and accept the pain that would come, but somehow, when Cain came to get them, all of that preparation completely disappeared, and finally, for the first time since he’d been there, Wren snapped.

“Come on you two, time to get that brand replaced.” He said, a sickening grin on his face, and Wren didn’t move from his spot sitting on the bed.

“No.” He said simply, immediately shocking Cain, even Zander gave him a surprised look.

“What was that?” He asked, his voice taking on that warning tone, expecting Wren to grovel and beg for forgiveness.

“I said no.” He repeated, still sitting exactly where he was. “If you want me out of this room then you’ll have to move me yourself because I’m. Not. Going.” He said seriously. He wasn’t exactly surprised when Cain stormed over, grabbing him by the collar and roughly pulling him off the bed, causing him to gag as his airway was restricted.

“You really want to be defiant now you little shit?!” Cain snarled at him.

“Let go of his collar, you’re going to fucking strangle him!” Zander snapped, trying to step him but Cain just dragged him further towards the door. He didn’t get him out of the door way though, not completely, when he tried Wren suddenly grabbed the edge of the doorframe, and he refused to let go.

“I’m not fucking going!” He screamed, panic and anger evident in his voice. “I’m not dealing with that again, I’m not! Fucking let go of me!” He held on tighter as Cain released his collar just to grab him around the waist, struggling to pull him off.

“Fuck when did you get this fucking stubborn!” He snapped. “Zander, make him let go already.” He ordered, and instinctively Zander stepped towards him.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Wren yelled at him. “I swear to god Zander, if you listen to him I’ll never, ever forgive you!” He screamed, and that was enough to make Zander freeze in place. Cain growled in frustration and finally, with one final yank he managed to make him lose his grip, dragging him out into the hallway. He let go of his waist only to grab his wrist, and without thinking Wren lurched forward and bit his arm.

“What the fuck!” He cried, he almost let go of him but instead kept a tight grip on his wrist, using his other hand to grab him by the hair and suddenly slam his head against the wall. He did that two more times until Wren was easier to drag along, still weakly struggling and screaming.

“Let go, let go, let go!” He screamed. “I’m not fucking going through that again, let go of me you fucking son of a bitch!” He yelled, sounding more and more like Zander rather than himself. Cain dragged him down the hall rather than trying to get him out of the house right away, he had to struggle to keep a hold on him so he could cuff his hands behind his back, which he had to kneel on his back to hold him down long enough to do so. That made it much easier for him to drag him out though, Zander following after them. He was just as surprised by Wren’s outburst as Cain was, stunned to the point he really couldn’t do anything but follow and wait to see what happened, wait to see if Wren actually won this battle.

He didn’t though, he was dragged outside kicking and screaming to where there was a car waiting for them already. Rather than shove him in the back though, Cain popped the trunk, struggling to lift the thrashing boy up.

“Hey- you can’t put him in there!” Zander finally snapped into action, trying to make Cain let go of Wren but Cain just shot him a look.

“Either he goes in here or I’m going to wrap my hands around his fucking throat and squeeze until he passes out.” He said seriously, in that tone that Zander knew meant he was serious. He had no choice but to back off, he refused to help with this, and finally Cain was able to lift him up, roughly shoving him in the trunk before slamming the door shut. “Either get in the fucking car now or he’s going through this alone- again.” He said, and Zander was quick to obey. He’d been worried enough the last time, he wanted to be there for him this time around.

He felt guilty but he tried to ignore the sound of him screaming the whole ride there.

***

Getting him down there was a feat of its own, but once the leash was clipped to his collar he decided to try something different. He dropped to the floor, sitting down and refusing to move, the way he would when he was throwing a fit as a little kid. Cain tried to persuade him by roughly yanking on the leash, only to finally look to Zander.

“Pick him up.” He said sternly.

“I’m not doing that.” He said immediately. “I’m not helping in any of this, you shouldn’t even be fucking doing this!”

“You sure have a lot of opinions on this when it’s your fucking fault!” Cain snapped back. “I told you to fucking behave! I told you this would happen if you fucked up again and you didn’t give a shit, now shut the fuck up and grab him!” He was clearly pissed off, Wren hardly cared though, just sitting there listening to them argue.

“No! If you want this done then you’re doing it yourself, I’m only here so he doesn’t have to be alone!”

“Zander, do you remember your branding?” Cain said, suddenly calm, and Zander froze, something that unnerved Wren. “You remember what we had to do to make you calm down?”

“Don’t you fucking dare-“

“Either you pick up the fucking boy or he’s going through the same thing once I get him down there. You better think hard about it, since you’re already responsible for what’s happening to him.” Wren didn’t know what exactly Cain was threatening but he didn’t like it, he didn’t like that Zander actually had to think about it, and when he locked eyes with him, he saw the guilt in his eyes and he immediately tried to jump to his feet and run.

Zander was quicker than him, grabbing him around the waist and easily slinging him over his shoulder, and Wren broke down immediately.

“Put me down!” He yelled as Zander numbly followed after Cain. “Zander you can’t- you can’t fucking do this, how could you?!” He screamed. He was angry when it was Cain but Zander was different, it was scary, it almost felt like a betrayal. “Put me down right now!” He screamed, if his wrists had been free he would’ve been slamming them against Zander’s back, he would’ve done anything to get free right now but Zander was stronger, and he almost seemed to be ignoring him.

He was taken to that awful room again, and by the time they entered he was already in tears, still screaming and crying, Cain spoke to the person who would be carrying it out while Zander held him in place.

“This time it’s going on his chest.” Cain said casually, and Wren wailed, frantically struggling against Zander’s grip. It was decided that he needed to be sitting up for this brand, and once he was put down he was held by the hair as his shirt was cut off of him, nobody taking a chance with uncuffing his wrists. Cain looked to Zander with a sickening grin on his face, saying, “Mutt- hold him down so we can do this.”

“Absolutely fucking not!” He snapped.

“Fine, I’ll just have them get a needle ready then-“

“No!” He groaned, clearly frustrated. “No, no I’ll- I’ll do it…” He sighed.

“Zander!” Wren cried, absolutely heartbroken. He tried to push himself away, but Zander got on the floor with him, easily grabbing him and holding him in place. He had to brace his back against a wall, grabbing him around his arms and having to trap his legs with his own to keep him from kicking. He still struggled though, desperately trying to get free. “Let me go! Let go of me, you can’t do this!” He screamed, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m sorry Wren, just- just trust me, this is better, okay?” Zander said, his voice shaking, but Wren was hardly listening, continue to struggle during the agonizing moments spent waiting for the brand to heat up.

“You should probably keep apologizing.” Cain snickered. “The pup seems pretty damn upset with you.”

“Shut up!” Zander hissed at him, tightening his hold on Wren, causing him to sob. He seemed to stop struggling for a moment, taking a chance to catch his breath, he felt sick and light headed, his chest hurt, but as soon as they came over with the branding iron, he started up all over again.

“No no no no no! No- let me go!” He screamed, struggling to break free from his grip, “Let me go, Zander, Zander fucking let me go!”

“I can’t do that kid, I’m sorry…” He said softly.

“Let me go!” He sobbed. “I fucking hate you please just let me go!” He didn’t even think about what he said, rambling everything that popped into his head, too panicked to even think straight. He kept yelling, but it pitched into a shriek as the branding iron finally touched his skin.

It was just as bad- no, definitely worse than the first time. That white hot, searing pain was back, paired with the pain of being restrained the way he was had him wailing in agony. He screamed so loud he swore his voice would give out completely, the iron was pressed against his chest further, and oddly, abruptly, his entire world went dark.

The boy went limp in Zander’s arms, his screaming suddenly silencing. It wasn’t a relief, it was terrifying, his head fell back against Zander’s shoulder and for a split second, he was so, so scared he’d simply screamed himself to death. He was breathing though, shallow breaths, but he was completely unconscious, and when Cain saw it he laughed.

“Aww, the poor thing couldn’t take it!” He laughed. “And did you hear him? He says he hates you!” Zander chose not to respond, it already hurt enough to hear it from Wren but at the same time, he didn’t blame him at all, if anything he knew he deserved it.

Wren didn’t come to until the branding was over and done with, Zander held him the entire time, too scared to move him even as the smell of burnt flesh made him nauseous. He’d adjusted his hold on him, gentler, more protective, and desperately hoping that he’d passed out before the pain has gotten too severe.

***

Wren sat on the bed, staring numbly across the room at the red handprints on the wall. He wasn’t even really thinking, just sitting silently, his thoughts reduced to static and nonsense. He was aware of the awful numbness from the burn on his chest but he didn’t want to think too much about it. At some point, Zander came to sit next to him, reaching a hand out to him.

“Don’t touch me.” He said right away. Zander seemed to hesitate, but he pulled his hand away, even moved off the bed. Wren hardly cared. Right now he didn’t feel bad, he didn’t feel guilty, a part of him was still angry. He didn’t know what Zander thought could be worse than what he did, being restrained by someone he trusted. He almost would’ve preferred if Zander had just hit him, holding him in place for that kind of torture was something else though, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever get over.

He didn’t remember much after he’d woken up, but he remembered the pain all too clearly. His throat was still sore and aching, his voice would definitely be shot for days to come. His arms and legs were sore from being restrained the way he was, he didn’t want to think about the bruises that would be left.

Eventually he got off the bed, his legs shaking as he walked into the bathroom, giving himself the most privacy he could get. He approached the mirror hesitantly, scared of what he’d see but also knowing it would drive him crazy to not check just how bad it was. There in the center of his chest was the worst burn he’d ever seen, worse than the brand on his arm it seemed. He almost felt nauseous, the room seemed to warp around him and he was quick to sit down on the tile floor, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

He’d already been branded once. That one had been easy to ignore though, he forgot about it often but on his chest… he’d see it every time he changed clothes, every time he took a shower, he’d see it constantly, he’d be far too aware of its existence and it made him sick. Tears welled up in his eyes again and he didn’t bother to hold them back. He sat there on the bathroom floor, sniffling but otherwise crying silently, wondering how the fuck things got this bad.

***

Tag List: @ihaventwritteninsolong , @galaxywhump , @legallylibra , @to-whump-or-not-to-whump , @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi , @as-a-matter-of-whump , @grovegrocer , @renkocchi , @whumpasaurus101 , @inky-whump , @lonesome--hunter , @ladygwennn , @simplygrimly , @withering-whump , @lave-e, @whatwhumpcomments , @thatsthewhump , @just-another-whumper , @starnight-whump , @unicornscotty

#whump #BTHB #passing out from pain #my writing #my oc’s #Wren #Zander #Cain #branding #HAHAHAHAHAHHAAAA #I’ve been so excited for this

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deiliamedlini · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 4

No. 4- Trust fall

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

Previous/ Chapter Index/ Next

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Zelda’s room was an absolute prison.

There was no way that someone built this room for comfort, or peace. No one would find a sense of calm and relaxation in here. It was built to inspire fear, and that’s exactly what it did.

The door was locked, of course. No amount of jiggling the handle would do anything to help her. But when she turned, she was met by a sickening, neon orange wall, with white floors; her eyes hurt simply from looking at it all.

There was no window in the small room, but she hadn’t expected it. She figured they were in the middle of the compound, just based on what little information she’d managed to gather. But there was nothing on the walls, nothing but the painful color. It left the room feeling barren and empty; a cold place rather than somewhere warm and inviting.

The bed was small and set on a metal frame, and when she sat on it, she sank into an uncomfortable gap that had been left by an apparent, numerous occupants. And the sheets didn’t appear to have been changed in the time between people either, given their frayed, tattered, and—to Zelda’s utter dismay—odorous state.

No, this room was not meant to be lived in. This was another tactic, another measure for her to overcome. This was to scare her out of joining the Yiga, as if she had any other choice right now. Joining was the only way out.

She sat in the corner of the room on the floor, hoping that was a safer bet than the bed was, and pictured just how many people were gathered in that room. Not one of them tried to defect? Every one of them was here of their own volition?

Zelda shuddered. What if there was a ploy, a twist? What if somehow, they really could convince her to become a Malice-loving zealot? Who would she even be?

Perhaps the room was meant to test her in more ways than one, because the only time the door opened was for someone to drop off food that she was too afraid to eat, and then they’d leave with the tray and Zelda would wander the empty room trying to keep herself entertained.

She’d been in the Yiga’s hideout for a week now: three days in the cells, and four in the room.

Four, right?

She’d lost count, honestly.

On day… two—she believed—she accepted the food with caution. They wouldn’t try to pull the same trick twice, right? Besides, she’d need her strength if she wanted to have a chance of fighting.

That was what this room really did: broke people until they no longer had fight left inside them.

Before the Malice had taken over, Zelda was fresh out of school. She did some sports in high school, and she ran in her spare time, but athleticism wasn’t her forte. After, however, Zelda had become proficient in fending off the more annoying crazed creatures, and the occasional human. She could use a bow, a knife, and herself to throw an enemy off balance. But here? Here she was surrounded and completely alone.

Zelda loved rulers, but there were none in the room.

She took her arm and placed it beside the pillow she refused to use on the bed she wouldn’t sit on. The pillow was about 1 ¼’s of her arm. The blanket was 5 arms in length, and 3 wide. The door was 2. The room was 14.

Goddess, there was little else she could do to keep herself entertained.

She took her place on the floor, stretched out and groaning as her bones snapped and cracked, begging for her to be kinder to them. She flipped onto her back and let out a heavy sigh as her back thanked her.

“Let me out,” Zelda said to no one in particular, and in a very normal voice. She didn’t shout or call for help, but she needed to speak. “Please, just let me leave this stupid room!”

Her stomach growled. Weak. She was weak with hunger. Her legs didn’t want her to stand back up, and she was okay with that.

How many fibers were on the frayed end of the blanket, Zelda wondered?

It was faint, but Zelda’s ears perked up at an unfamiliar noise outside her door, causing her to sit up faster than she ever had before. It was quick, and gone in an instant, but it was there.

She crawled to her door, staying low in case… well, she didn’t know why. Just in case.

With her ear to the door, she closed her eyes to block out her other senses, and listened.

Boom!

Zelda shrieked and fell backwards as the sound of something hard and heavy connected with her door, shaking it with her head still against the wood.

There was the unmistakable sound of a scuffle, and the door shook with several thuds, occasionally followed by a grunt or two.

Then, it was silent.

Zelda ran to the door and pressed her ear there once again, but she heard nothing.

“Hey!” she finally called, banging her palm on the door as hard as she could, a surge of adrenalin bursting through her tired, sore, and hungry body. “Hey!” She tried, banging incessantly.

Zelda had hoped it would get someone’s attention. She hoped someone would open the door, and allow her to escape.

She didn’t expect to hear a man’s confused voice on the other side.

“Yes?”

Eyes bugging out, Zelda banged the door again. “Hey! Who’s this!? Let me out!”

She heard the man grunt. “Who is this? Why should I let you out?”

“Aren’t you a Yiga?” she asked jokingly.

“No.”

No?

“No?”

“No.”

Zelda let her hands slide along the wood, trying the door handle one more time, fruitlessly. “My village was massacred, I was betrayed, and they’re trying to kill me! Please let me out!”

“I don’t know you,” he said with a scoff.

Zelda banged her fists on the door. “Please! Let me out! It’s locked from the outside!”

“Stop doing that and maybe I will!”

She saw the doorknob jiggle before it stopped. “Hang on,” he said, just before she heard retreating footsteps.

She wanted to beg him not to go, but she simply held her breath and waited, trying to think of the best way to attack. There were literally no possible weapons in the room, so she imagined the door opening, and her coming out swinging instead. Of course, if they had a weapon, she’d be done for and back in the room.

Footsteps were on the other side again. “You in there?” he asked.

“Where did you think I went?”

She could hear him chuckle. “Help me out,” he said to someone else.

A woman muttered something that she couldn’t hear, but there was a thud, and the door shook.

“Back up!” the man called.

Zelda did, wondering what they were doing.

And she yelped when a giant metal sword pierced the wood.

Then again.

Another sword, and the wood was splintering.

“Goddess,” she mumbled, watching the wood be torn to pieces in random places.

It didn’t make sense until there were a few more thuds, and the center of the door was a hole just big enough for her.

“Hello?”

Zelda waited, unsure if they were just going to stab her when all was said and done. But that was probably too much effort.

“Damn,” a woman said, her voice deep and authoritative, but also melodic and charming. “That was fun.”

“Good thing we cleared this area,” the man said, his voice moving, as if he were looking around.

“Hey,” the woman said, peering at Zelda in the room. She was hunched over, so she was very tall, and her red hair was long and wild and wavy as it hung in front of her face. “Coming? We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Yes,” she breathed, rushing toward the gap.

The woman disappeared. “Can you help her out? I’m going to go find Daruk.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Zelda watched the woman run by the door, and a new figure replaced her.

The man was not nearly the same height as the woman, and Zelda wondered if they might actually just be the same, judging from where he stood. His partially gloved hand ran along the gap just before he shoved his whole arm inside, ready to take Zelda’s hand.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze. I’ll help pull you out.”

“How do you know I’m not really a Yiga?” she asked. “How do I know you’re not a Yiga? Am I supposed to take you at your word?”

“That would be silly. Let me prove it to you instead,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

Hesitation was not something Zelda liked experiencing, so she fought past it and gripped the man’s hard, calloused hand. His fingers closed tight around hers. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to pull.”

“I will,” she said, getting her leg up, but then getting stuck. “Oh, this is just going to hurt a bit.”

“What is?”

“I’m stuck. I think… just pull me. I just want to get out of here.”

“We don’t injure people for no reason, he said with an exasperated sigh. Come on, let me help.”

His hand didn’t move, waiting for her permission. “Fine.”

“What are you wearing?”

Zelda’s heart was already racing from the nerves, and the excitement of getting out of here. But this man… was something. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t see well. What are you wearing?”

“Pants and…”

“Good enough,” he said, reaching forward and sliding his hand quickly down her back before grabbing her by the waist of her pants and pulling her with him.

She didn’t land on the ground, but instead, found herself out of that cursed room, and in the arms of a total stranger.

Sudden tiredness washed over her. “Why did you even let me out? Do you trust me, or something?”

“No,” he snorted, letting her go when he felt she was solid. “No, but we’re already on a rescue mission. Let’s just add one more.”

“A rescue?”

“Yeah, a man with blue hair should be prisoner here. We’re here to break him out, but we’ve been scouring this place.”

“Wait, blue hair? I think I know where he is.”

The man’s blonde, messy mop hung in front of his eyes. It must be annoying, Zelda figured, but she wasn’t going to voice that opinion. Some of his hair was tied back, but not enough to be neat or helpful.

“You do?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“I believe so.”

“What’s your name so I can thank the Goddess for you at night?” he laughed, before picking up a long staff he’d leaned against a wall.

“Zelda,” she said, instinctively holding out her hand for a handshake.

“Zelda? Good to meet you. I’m Link.” He held his hand out beside hers. She stared at his hand like it were doing a trick before simply sliding her hand into his.

Smoothing her hand through her hair awkwardly, she looked around, getting her bearings. “Okay, let’s go.”

#legend of zelda #loz #loz au #breath of the wild #botw au #whumptober #whumptober2021 #whumptober 2021 #whump #no. 4 #Do you trust me #Link #Zelda #zelink #urbosa #Yiga Clan #malice #writing

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nolanhollogay · 2 years

Note

"you look like you slept well..."

monty being a menace once again <3

cw for discussions of sex so this answer will be under the cut (also u don't have to rb if u are uncomfy)

One thing about Monty, he loved sex. And he wanted everyone else to also love sex. Which was why he was extremely pleased that Ant was having his sexual awakening. It was like a gift from the universe.

As he sat in Reggie's living room, trying to decide if it was worth it to look around for something to eat, Ant walked in. He was wearing Reggie's red flannel, but had only done the two middle buttons. He was wearing shorts that he'd stolen from Monty because he was a sticky fingered bastard.

His outfit wasn't what Monty was focused on however.

There was an absolutely brutal looking lovebite on his chest, right above his heart. It was oddly sweet, in that way only the two of them could pull off.

"You look like you slept well..." Monty teased as Ant threw himself onto the couch, dropping his head into his lap. Monty immediately started petting his head because what else would he do?

Ant sent him a glare, like he wasn't blushing. "Shut up. Leave me alone."

"I, however, didn't get any sleep because you two horndogs kept me up all night," Monty teased. "All I could hear through the wall was–" He put on the most high pitched breathy voice he could manage and moaned "–Oh, Reggie! Oh, Reggie! You're so lucky his parents weren't here."

"We didn't even do anything! Can you not be a dickhead for once in your life, Montgomery?" Ant whined. God, he was so cute without even trying. It was sickening.

Monty cackled. That definitely wasn't true because he had heard a rogue moan or two slip through the walls, even if wasn't the exaggerated way he'd said it was. And the hickey was sitting there, proudly on Ant's chest.

"Ouch, Bambs, my full name? You wound me," he joked.

Ant rolled his eyes and grabbed his wrist to press a kiss to it. Monty's breath got stuck in his throat. He didn't know what he was doing to him.

Reggie walked into the room, and Ant lit up like a kid in a candy store. Monty tried not to take it to heart.

"Morning Cowboy," Monty said. "How'd ya sleep?"

Reggie grinned and walked over to sit with them, lifting Ant's feet before resting them in his lap. "Like a baby."

"Going to pound town tends to do that to people, yeah," Monty said just to hear Ant shriek his name in distress.

#monty carmichael #who started the rumor that monty is in love with ant? (me)#ant & monty #monty & reggie #monty asks #asks #my writing #leaf tag 🌿

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rookvonhunt · 3 years

Text

Hide and Seek

oh i finished the lil drabble for @celiica :)

TW for uhh : Implied abuse

A young woman sat silently , hand to her mouth to muffle the small and shaky breaths that escaped her. She heard a door to the room she was in close, and noticed the light of a lantern as it poured in. Pressing her hand closer to her mouth , Meryem shrunk in upon herself behind the hoard of crates. This was all His fault. That stupid stranger boy thinking she was his girl or whatever ! She didn’t even know his name , but she knew he was the one at fault for her family turning against her. Thinking she had broken their Strict rules. And so now she sat in the broken down and Moldy house they once lived in. Before that hurricane came around and killed their mother. She frowned. That’s when daddy started losing his marbles. When he started putting all those rules up. And he totally thought she snuck a boy into the house , one talkin’ about a baby too ! A voice broke her from her thoughts;

“ Where are you ? “ It was her big brother , Martin. And she knew he was smarter than he let on. And so she remained perfectly still , refusing to attract his attention. Or the attention of all of those horrible , disgusting insects of his. He was also much stronger than she was , and taller , and faster. And she knew as soon as he saw her he’d knock her out. Or worse. Start callin’ for Daddy. But at the very least he seemed to walk through the room without catching onto her. The sound of his footsteps themselves were silent but the floorboards creaking and door opposite of the way had come in closing told Meryem he had at last left. She stood slowly to peak over the crates she had been hidden behind. Sighing softly , she moved to the exact same door Martin had walked through just a moment ago, knowing that he would end up doubling back and if they met face to face he wouldn’t hesitate. She closed it as quietly as humanly possible. Not failing to notice how the sound of floorboards stopped in their tracks. Think fast , she thought , tip toeing to another pile of rotting wood crates and plastic tarps that reeked of musk and mold. Meryem grit her teeth as she heard him approach again. Calling out to her. “ Meryem ~ “ It was a sickening coo , almost. “ I know you’re here , my sweet n darlin’ sis. “

Go away , go away ! Meryem had mentally chanted in hopes he would at least move away enough for her to be out of eye shot when she bolted for it. Meryem waited , watching around the crates she had hidden herself behind. Martin stood with his back turned to her.

“ Don’t think I don’t know what you and that Boy , are up to. “ He began , Meryem ducking behind the crates again when he flailed the lantern in his hands. Desperate to cast a shadow to reveal her location. “ You and I are both young ! Why don’t you come out ? So daddy and I can set things Straight. . . ! “ As if ! He was absolutely crazy, thinking she’d come out to take a punishment she didn’t deserve. “ WE LET YOU INTO OUR HOME. “ Martin’s booming yell almost made her gasp--Or worse, Squeak--in surprise. Only then did she hear him actually stomping away. She crawled out slowly, making her way towards a rather large hole in the ground of the old home , only able to cross due to the plywood laying across the gap. The young woman crossed daintily to the other side with little hesitation to make it to a hatch that would lead her to some area under the house. She would be able to get out from under the deck. At last she felt confident in her chances of escape, even letting herself smile as she opened that hatch and hopped down. Crawling on her stomach she slowly made it through the little underground area , once again brightening. Until she felt something grab her by the ankles.

Meryem let out a shriek as she turned back to see her brother had in fact only feigned his tantrum, grinning at her. “ Where do you think you’re goin’ lil missy? “ It was completely rhetorical as he began dragging her back by the ankles to bring her to their proper home.

“ NO! NO PLEASE ! “ Meryem screamed into the night , never more upset by her family’s remote location. In a place where no one would be able to hear her scream.

#twst #twst oc #villamania #Martin Bailey #Meryem Cipernuca #tw implied abuse

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wordstro · 3 years

Text

[3:08 PM] + naruto/ninja au + “thank you, for everything.”

note: shinobi = ninjas, chakra = energy reserves, yunho x gender neutral reader x mingi implications

your team was always dysfunctional. you should have known you’d never grow out of it. you started out as barely teenagers after all, made to train your asses off since you were toddlers in order to protect your village. they’d left your team under the supervision of some twenty something year old shinobi with unprocessed trauma of his own and expected you to come out unscathed. it’s almost laughable to think your team would end up as anything but dysfunctional.

not to mention the ghosts each of you carried with you from the very first day. you’d grown up orphaned and ostracized, with a cursed demon sealed into you that had been responsible for the destruction of your village and the death of your parents. he liked to speak to you, remind you that that was also why your village ostracized you. sometimes the demonic fox spirit would curl its teeth back and remind you that you’d killed people because you harbored him inside you. frankly, it was fucked up.

then there was jeong yunho, kind faced and handsome and infuriatingly good at everything. you’d developed a small rivalry with the boy, only because he’d grin and call you idiot and you knew if you could beat him then all the whispers would cease. he was the last of the jeong clan. yunho sat there on the first day of training with your team and activated his clan eyes, red swirling eyes born of anger and death, and he said he was going to avenge his clan. he would take his brother’s life for killing his clan in front of his eyes. and you thought your life was fucked up.

last was song mingi, with his jokes and clumsiness and heart eyes directed at absolutely anyone who would treat him with kindness. he’d lost his parents to the demon fox spirit’s attack on the village. he looked at you sometimes like he knew exactly what you harbored. or rather exactly what you’d done, as the fox spirit liked to remind you. he was perceptive, but determined, and he could have been the strongest of the three of you if blood techniques and fox spirits did not give you and yunho an advantage over him.

years passed since that first day, and you are all more dysfunctional than ever. perhaps, you are worse off now then you were before. perhaps it was the invasions from enemy villages, the kidnapping and demon extraction attempts made on you, the broken limbs and broken hearts, the reappearance of yunho’s brother and the deep seated anger that reappearance brought out of yunho. with the realization that he was still not strong enough to avenge his family and kill his brother, yunho’s kindness melted into a rage that ate away at everyone and everything. mingi tried to keep you all together. but yunho tried to tear you all apart.

maybe your team's destruction was inevitable.

it’s why you find yourself here now, at the great valley of shinobi, face to face with your self proclaimed rival-turned-best-friend, the demonic fox spirit inside you keening for the chance to be unleashed.

yunho stands across the valley, tendrils of inky black spreading across his skin, over his face, down his arm, reddening his eyes. the curse mark. he’d gotten it during your first exam years ago. you still had no idea how it happened. one moment he was fine and the next he was knocked unconscious over mingi’s shoulders, and when you’d asked mingi what happened, mingi merely curled his fingers into tight fists at his lap and shook his head, wordless. the only explanation you had was watching yunho nearly murder neighboring shinobi during the exam's second round matches.

now, mingi stands at the bottom of the valley, his head tilted upwards, watching both of you. he kept a distance, but he could hear them. he needed to watch them, even when you'd selfishly suggested he stayed back.

he’d mentioned once, in the quiet of an evening post-mission when the three of you were settling into bed with bruised limbs and a deep exhaustion, that he hated how useless he felt in your presence. it wasn’t fair that you had seemingly endless chakra reserves and yunho, well, he was merely perfect in every way. it wasn't fair how weak he was compared to both of you, how he would always be a step behind no matter how strong he got. yunho with his clan techniques and clan eyes and you with your endless chakra and strength. this was before yunho had gone mad for his vengeance. he’d reached out and pressed a hand to mingi’s and said, “you could never be useless. without you i would have died in that forest.”

you’d nodded, whispered, “if anyone’s useless it’s yunho. what kind of shinobi almost dies in a forest?”

yunho tossed his pillow at you and mingi let out a small, choked laugh at your shriek. you’d wiped at his tears, patting his cheek, and yunho rubbed his back, with that kind smile you’d started to mind a lot less.

you tear your eyes from the mouth of the valley, from yunho, from your thoughts of the past, focusing on the here and now.

“you’re really going to desert the village? after everything?”

yunho tilts his head and there’s a familiarity in his smile. he’d look at you like that sometimes, when you’re all trudging back from a mission or after a particularly grueling training session where you’d sit up from where you lay on the dirt, making grabby hands for water, and yunho would toss you his water bottle, laughing quietly when it’d slip past your fingers and hit your chest. he’d look at you with affection. like he was fond of you.

“it’s the only way i can get stronger and achieve my goal.”

yunho’s voice echoes, the curse mark growing larger as it encompasses his face.

“this place is a distraction.”

“bullshit and you fucking know it. we’ve been good for you. if you'd just take your head out of your ass for one moment, you'd see that.”

“let me specify,” he bites out, “you are a distraction.”

“yeah fucking right.”

“and useless,” he spat, unkindly, uncharacteristically. his eyes darted to the mouth of the valley, where mingi crouched, close enough to listen, “both of you.”

he hadn’t thought that when he’d take you and mingi to eat ramen after a long day of training. he hadn’t thought that you were useless when he learned of the beast inside you and his eyes changed, for both better and worse, when he decided he needed to surpass you too. he spent years building mingi up, holding his hand after missions gone awry and reminding him that he was everything but useless, that it was hardly fair for him to compare himself when his strengths lied in chakra control. he spent years sparring you and nodding appreciatively whenever you’d thoroughly kick his ass. if he really thought you useless or a distraction he would never have taken his time to bandage up your wounds after particularly bad missions. he was destroying everything he had here, at home, for his futile vengeance. you could imagine mingi's hurt at his words, even without looking at him. the same feeling, the same hurt, coursed through your veins, consuming you. the demon fox spirit inside you fed off it.

“i’m not letting you do this, yunho. once you step out of this valley, they’ll put you in the bingo book. you'll have a reward out for your head. you’ll be a deserter...a traitor. they won’t let you come back, yunho. you'll ruin your life.”

“you won't let me?" he ignores everything else you say and you notice. he glares, "who are you to make decisions for me?”

“your best fucking friend.”

“that’s useless too. it’ll just make me weak. it's already made you weak. look at you, on the verge of tears. look at mingi.”

you grit your teeth. you want to yell at him, tell him that you and mingi have made him stronger, just as yunho and mingi have made you. friendship, bonds, were not weak. it was not useless. love was not weak.

but you were always bad at speaking your feelings. you worked better with your fists. every disagreement you've ever had with yunho was resolved on the training fields, with well placed punches until you were both too exhausted to move. there was a reason why mingi was the heart of your team.

you clench your fists, before raising them, steadying your chakra, readying yourself. you bite, “i’ll drag you back if i have to.”

yunho laughed, and it was still the same loud laugh you’d grown accustomed to. you glare as he calls, “i’d love to see you try, idiot.”

the demon fox inside you jeers in anticipation. you shoot forward and yunho laughs as he grabs you by the neck, shoving you down and into the mouth of the valley. he moved faster than he ever had before. you vaguely hear mingi shouting at both of you, blood rushing to your ears. you fight, and you bleed, and yunho does not back down. he gathers electricity at his hands, striking midair, and you gasp, tumbling before you steady yourself, moving just as quickly. yunho does not relent, even when mingi steps in.

mingi gathers chakra, eyes determined, but yunho is too fast for him. with his cursed mark energy, he moves faster than even you can track, and his clan eyes make it worse. yunho clamps his hands around mingi's throat and you don't hear what mingi says to him, you just see mingi's mouth moving and yunho's brows furrowing as he stills for a moment. and then yunho blasts mingi into the side of a cliff with a sickening crunch. mingi crumbles into a heap and that spurs you into another wave of anger as you pummel yunho, screaming at him. how could he hurt mingi? he swore he never would. you were fair game, but mingi was different. you both decided that from the moment your team was formed.

he turns into a cursed beast with skeletal wings and black eyes and fangs. his clan eyes spin. he is ruthless. you turn into the demon fox spirit. it salivates at it's chance to be released.

still, in the end, you lose.

-.-.-.-.-

your vision is a blur as you heave for air, your sides burning with each breath. the demon fox inside you growls at you to get up but you’ve used up all you chakra. you vaguely make out yunho slumped over you. he stumbles to his feet, dragging an unconscious mingi to your side.

he looks between you both, the moon framing his slumped form.

“don’t,” you breathe, voice raspy, stilted, “please yunho, don’t go.”

he looks down at you as if he is committing you to memory, even like this. his gaze flits to mingi and he does the same, before he tilts his head up, closes his eyes. his jaw clenches. then he looks at you.

“thank you, for everything,” he says with a quiet finality.

your vision blurs, and you’re fading, but you still try to get up, to move. you’re too weak for any of it. he watches you struggle for a moment, before he turns and he walks away. he leaves you.

later, mingi sits by your bedside in the hospital and you murmur to him, “i swear i’ll bring him back.”

“no,” he reaches out and squeezes your hand, “we’ll do it together.”

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez angst #yunho angst #mingi angst #yunho #song mingi

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cdarkheartzero · 4 years

Text

Today’s theme- “Too far”

I was skimming through some comments and such and came across @the-garbage-is-my-fandom ‘s comment of “more horror art” on my “Bathtime” piece. And I was inspired. I’m especially excited for @melodyofthevoid to tear into me like I do her when she abuses my son.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen” Dib chanted to himself choking on what little air his lungs could grasp. He had never known fear like this and his body just had no idea how to handle it.

Dib mind raced, playing the previous weeks in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. His master plan, a small gas bomb capable of temporarily paralyzing or knocking his enemy out, was finally complete. Many a sleepless night and wasted weekend on containment structure, chemical analysis and test runs. This was it. Finally, he could capture the alien menace and expose him. Finally, he would no longer be the crazy kid. Finally, the world would see the danger they were in all along. Finally.... he would be the hero.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

[[More]]

Dib snuck in through the front door after Zim’s idiot sidekick carelessly left it open, making haste to the neighborhood taco truck’s sirens blaring in the distance. He cautiously entered, realizing the Invader was no where in sight and gently placed the bomb in the center of the floor of the “living room”. Carefully he made his way up to the wires completely covering the ceiling for shelter. Soon enough, Gir threw the door open, Damn near ripping it off its hinges, absolutely covered in grease and meat. It seemed the taco run was a success.

He wandered over to the “box” in the middle of the floor and started screaming for his master. “MASTAAAAA!!!! A PRESENT!!!!!!” He shrieked and screeched. How did Zim deal with this all the time?

Within a moment or two, an undisguised Zim angrily emerged from the toilet in the kitchen (which was a sight Dib never really got used to. How does a WHOLE BODY fit down the small opening of a TOILET?!)

“Gir! What nonsense are you going on about!?”

“I gots a present! I’m the birthday boy!”

Zim quickly snatched the “gift” from the metallic hands, studying it’s shotty craftsmanship briefly and returning his full attention to the wide eyed robot standing before him. “What have I told you about bringing junk into this house? First that street lamp-” “But I wanted a nightlight to keep the monkey away.” Gir quietly and somberly interrupted.

Zim sighed. Was this conversation going to go anywhere? No. No, it wasn’t. He might as well talk to the jar of mayo still sitting open on the kitchen table from 3 days ago.

He bent down, clutching the box to his abdomen and give the robot a small pat on the head. “Zim told you he took care of the monkey. It can’t hurt you anymore. But please, Gir, refrain from bringing more stuff home.” He said calmly with a defeated tone in his voice. Gir’s face lit up with a wide grin spanning from “ear to ear” (had he had them anyway). “OKAAAAAY!” He screeched and wrapped his arms around his master. Dib could swear he heard something pop and squish under the groans and painful sounds Zim was emitting.

Then there was a click.

It seemed like the blink of an eye it all happened. An explosion unlike anything Dib ever thought possible by his hands unfolding around him. Windows shattered as glass slashed through the air in every which way direction. Chunks of flooring and wall violently slammed into anything unfortunate enough to come into their path. The fogged air was tainted with this disgustingly potent smell blanketing the entire room. The resulting shock wave flung Dib from his hiding spot, colliding with the cold tiles beneath him.

He blacked out for just a moment, his body on fire and his ears ringing loudly, drowning out all other sound. His eyes slowly opened and he worked up the strength to push himself to his feet. He noticed the blood on his hands as he lifted himself. He wasn’t surprised he got cut. He just couldn’t determain how bad. He was so disoriented.

He tried his best to scan the room, eyes adjusting themselves from the bright blast that had just assaulted them. A shine in the corner grabbed his attention in the sea of rubble and destruction. The robot, Gir, was crushed into the wall by large slabs of concrete and tiles. His once blue glowing eyes dim and cracked. He remained motionless.

“Oh, no.” Dib thought, realizing the severity of his actions. “Zim!” He cried out of instinct. There was no response. There was no movement in the cloud of smoke as it slowly decepated. The clearing air revealed Zim’s limp frame sprawled out within the neon-green splattered crater the explosion created by the front door. A gigantic hole displayed the vacant interior of his chest and abdominal cavity. Every bit of his internal organs were laid on the ground. His ruby eyes open and dull with his face resting almost peaceful. Dib’s stomach dropped.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

Panic was setting in. He wanted to get close to the alien but it’s like his legs forbid such an action. So he goggled. “WHAT DO I DO?!” He blurted out to no one. He backed into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the crater of debris and guts. His breathing jagged, his pulse racing and his throat overflowing, begging to release its contents on the oddly colored tiling. He felt sick.

“INITIATING SURVIVAL MODE”

He jumped. A sudden noise in this deafening silence. It was a voice he instantly recognized. Zim’s Computer. But it wasn’t echoing from the darkness of the house... it was coming from Zim.

The once limp body slowly started to adjust itself, trying to sit itself up. The more it moved, the more it’s contents leaked out of the organic frame. Dib just silently stared in awe....in relief.... in disgust as his fallen rival stood up. Swaying slightly as it tried to regain its balance. Their eyes locked. A shutter violently shook Dib. Zim was a lot of things. A pain in the ass. An idiot. Selfish. A narcissist. Incompetent. But this wasn’t Zim. This.... was TERRIFYING.

The creature’s thousand yard stare prickled Dib’s skin with the feeling of a million bugs crawling on his person. The paranormal investigator watched-even from several feet away- the speedy throbbing of the veins protruding around It’s eyes. The alien opened his mouth to speak and all that came out through the river of brightly colored blood was the sound of static. It was painful. SO PAINFUL to hear. Dib wanted to shield his ears from the sound but his body stood there still.

The creature’s attention tore away from Dib for a moment, eyeing the damaged robot. His PAK opened up, aggressively flinging his long, thin, robotic legs outwards. The legs came down one by one, echoing a small “clink” on the floor as the razor sharp ends touched the tile. His body lifted and made his way to the faithful metallic companion. Without saying a word, Dib watched as Zim’s body pried the heavy debris pinning the small robot. Gir’s body was released and the gloved hands gently caught him before he could fall on the floor.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

“Zim.... I swear.... I didn’t mean to...-“

He was caught off when the red eyes turned to his direction again. Even without pupils or Iris’, Dib could feel the daggers being thrown at him. The mouth opened to speak. “Gir.... why?”

Dib backed up one more step, further into the kitchen. Zim’s voice.... it was wrong. Metallic. Cold. Disoriented. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. Words caught in Dib’s throat but he mustered all his strength to release them. “It was an accident. It-it was just supposed to knock you out.” Dib continued to ramble. “I don’t know what happened!”

“Miserable”

Dib tensed up “W-what is?”

“Your existence brings misery. To your planet. To your family. To anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with you.”

Those words cut Dib’s soul deep. It’s like Zim could read his worst fears. Something he kept hidden- that black stain in his heart-all this time. Exposed. Just like that.

Before he could say anything, the alien continued “ You have always been an annoyance, you sickening human. We cannot escape you. Your voice. Your presence. Your smell. Forever a thorn in our side. The reason my tallest find me nothing more than entertainment. Why Zim can never succeed in his goals. Now this....the only good Zim had...” he said staring at Gir’s face.

“What is he talking about? What did I do with his leaders?” Dib pondered, eyes frantically shifting between Zim’s body and the door behind him.

His neck snapped in Dib’s direction. “But that’s not the worst part. Zim always heard it. For years. It was always following me.” The legs carried him one step closer to the kitchen. Dib silently took a step backwards. “There. Annoying me. Attacking his senses. A constant reminder of the misery you cause. Zim will rid himself of this....this sound...”

Dib needed to flee. But how? This creature was in front of the door!

Zim’s lips curled up. His smirk growing, stretching wider and wider, tearing the ends of his mouth apart. Blood leaking down the sides of his face as the smile grew to sizes ever more disturbing. It was like he was trying to separate the top and bottom of head. There was a silence. With a grin unseen by human eyes before, The creature chucked.

“OnCe I sILeNcE tHaT hEaRt Of YoUrS, wiLl ZiM FiNaLLy bE FrEe?

As the creature leapt towards the investigator, his body (FINALLY) responded by quickly dodging out of the way, slamming into the sink. The thin, metallic legs crashed into the dining room table decimating it instantly. Without so much as a thought, Dib crawled into the trash can and landed into the claustrophobic elevator to the lab. He panted and shook. It was a terrible idea to go down to the labs. A territory not his. He was out of his element and he wasn’t sure how he would escape. But it beat staying up there and getting ripped to shreds. The pink glow of the elevator made him even more on edge.

The doors opened, startling Dib who was frantically lost in thought. He ran from the elevator, peeking behind tables, tubes and anything else while keeping his senses sharp and alert. Zim was somewhere. Maybe he could just take the elevator back up and leave? But what if he was still in the kitchen?

There was a high-pitched screech pouring from the shaft he had just exited. The elevator lights flickered, sparks raining down and the glow of Zim’s upside down eyes peeked through its opening. His legs slowly pulled him out, adjusting he and Gir (whom was still being cradled) upright. “Diiiiiiiiib.... I kNoW YoU aRe In HeRe....” it gargled.

Dib patiently waited, holding back his sobs and screams, for the towering monster to pass. He needed to keep running. Find the elevator to the toilet! It was the only way! He hid. And ran. Hid. And ran. It was the most horrifying game of cat and mouse conceivable. The longer it went on, the worse it seemed to get for him. He couldn’t find the exit. And he couldn’t find Zim. Not that he WANTED to find him, but at least pass him to know he was still in this metallic labyrinth. That the kitchen was clear.

Finally, he stumbled upon what he assumed was the elevator on the other side of a large room. He was so close-! Within a single second, his joy faded to nothingness by the familiar sound of scraping. He watched the shadow on the floor as it shakily passed by the table Dib had temporarily chosen as shelter. It stopped and stood still like a statue momentarily: Then went about it’s way. “Finally-! To that door!”

He sprinted to the exit, knocking a few items from a table and catching the beast’s attention. Running with all the strength his body had to offer, he was finally within reach of the button left of the doorframe. His fist slammed into it and the sounds of the creature hurried closer, bellowing his name in a mortifying shriek.

The double doors opened. Dib threw his body into the room only to hit into something and get pelted with tools and cans tumbling from above. Realization slapped him in the face. This isn’t an elevator....

This is a closet.

With heavy dread, Dib turned his face to see that he and the creature were mere inches away from each other. There was no where to go. Never taking his eye’s off Zim’s, he felt two sharp knives glide over his ribcage, gently banging on each bone as they made their way to their target. It’s face had a permanent smile, gradually becoming more and more uncontrollable the harder and faster the thrashing in Dib’s chest became. As the blades slowly began digging in and red blood mixed with green, 5 words continuously haunted his thoughts.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

Thanks so much to anyone that read this! I hope you enjoyed!

#invader zim #iz #zim #zero’s art #sketch #invader zim gir #invader zim dib #horror #gore warning #iz fanart

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willadisastercry · 4 years

Text

Shiro cauterizing Keith’s wounds during a mission and absolutely hating it

tw: not too vivid but still there depiction of intentionally burning someone’s skin

The soldier had Keith in a precarious hold. This wouldn’t end well if someone didn’t do something, but Keith couldn’t do much and Shiro was trying to stall. Hunk thinks he can get the message to the others that shit has gone down, but how hurt is Keith going to get before they can get to them?

“Drop your weapons or the red paladin dies!”

The last galra soldier that remained from the group that ambushed them twisted Keith’s arm until there was a crack soon drowned out entirely by his scream as his bayard finally fell from his grip. With a sickening snarl the soldier then pressed the tip of his gun further into Keith’s cheek.

“Okay, okay!” Shiro placated with his hands out in front of him.

“Hunk, put it down!”

“But Shiro...”

The soldier took Keith’s arm from where it had fallen limp against his side and pulled it behind his back. His scream was raw, his throat already hoarse.

“Put it down.”

Hunk obeyed this time, tossing his bayard away from him where it reverted back into its plain form.

“Now, let’s discuss how this is going to work...”

Hunk tuned everything else out, letting Shiro handle the negotiating so he could listen in on Pidge and Lance’s conversation over the coms. Keith’s helmet had long since been knocked off but he wasn’t sure why they couldn’t hear the conversation on Shiro’s end.

They were in the next squadrant over, waiting for an order that would never come. Shiro and the soldier continued to trade useless banter, knowing full well Shiro was stalling but the soldier seemed to be as well, probably waiting for reinforcements. He got an idea then and focused on the scene in front of him.

“... Emporer Zarkon will be most pleased to have a paladin so dear to the Champion in his possession—“

“I am not the Champion anymore.”

Shiro spoke evenly, his voice strong and sure as the soldier smiled.

“You’ll always be the Champion.”

Hunk could’ve sworn he saw a spark of purple from Shiro’s prosthetic hand, his heart hammering at the sight and all the more with what he was about to do. But he steeled himself and spoke before the others started again.

“Shiro isn’t your Champion...” he gulped, unable to hide the tremor in his voice as other voices of concern came over the com and Shiro’s admonishing gaze urged him to be quiet.

“What’s that yellow paladin? Speak up!” the soldier adjusted his grip on the blaster pointed at Keith.

He was a picture of calm, breath almost as even as Shiro’s but when his eyes met Hunk’s they shone wide with fear, the usual warm indigo a deep, pleading violet.

What they were pleading for he couldn’t be sure, but he assumed something along the lines of what Shiro’s were.

“HUNK! What’s happening?”

But Hunk was determined. He knew what he was doing.

“You heard me...”

“Pidge—“

“Triangulating their location now...”

Hunk stood up straighter than he’d been standing before and looked to the soldier once more.

“Shiro isn’t your Champion.”

Shiro looked like Hunk usually did, like he wanted to throw up.

“Got it! We’re on our way now, hold on!”

Keith’s face fell with the same sort of gut wrenching despair.

“He’s the Black Paladin and he’s a hero, no thanks to you or...”

“Or who?” the soldiers smirk twisted up even more, the excitement in his eyes flaring at the exchange.

“Or Zarkon.”

“Emporer Zarkon,” the soldier spat. “And he’s hardly a Black Paladin, he doesn’t even hav—yes? Come in, this is...”

While the soldier communicated with someone in his own com system Hunk shared a look with Shiro, neither daring to move an inch otherwise as Hunk mouthed something to him with a steady watch back on the soldier.

When Hunk looked back to Shiro his face seemed more hopeful and set with something else. He met Hunk’s eyes with admiration and nodded. A new plan seemed to be brewing that Hunk wasn’t entirely sure he was aware of, but he’d set something into motion.

Of what, he didn’t know, but he didn’t need to. He’d trusted his unruly gut for once and it had payed off.

“You two!” the soldier faced them again.

“Turn around and start walking.”

“Why would we do that?” Shiro questioned smugly.

The soldier only laughed and in one swift motion traded the blaster at Keith’s face for his giant hand around his throat. They both cried out when he clawed at the hold as the soldier choked him, not letting go until his hand fell away and he sagged against him, breathless but still conscious. His choking grip turned into a threatening one, the claws of his massive hand pressing down instead.

“You will do what I say because if you don’t, the red paladin dies.”

The blaster was now pointed at them. Shiro met Keith’s weary eyes now, half lidded and lazy as the redness left his face.

“Hunk,” Shiro motioned for him to turn around with him, their hands raising to rest on the back of their heads.

“Walk!”

They walked and Hunk listened to Lance and Pidge over their coms as they closed the distance between them, apparently not encountering much resistance as they did of which was unanimously decided, not a good thing.

“They’re moving, shit!”

“Well, that means they’re not in a cell or anything yet... we still have time.”

“According to this schematic the hallway they’re in is pretty long... we’d be pretty exposed if we came up this way... hey, this room has a second entrance... if we hurry—“

“But we don’t know how many soldiers are with them, it’s no use if we’re all captured. We need a less conspicuous way, maybe somewhere I can snipe...”

“Hm, less conspicuous... I wonder...”

“GAH!”

Keith wailed and the two boys in front of him stopped dead in their tracks but didn’t dare turn around when the blaster they knew was pointed at them buzzed to life.

“Resisting is pointless, boy.”

“Not... r’sisting...” Keith grumbled scratchily, if his voice had sounded hoarse before it was well past wrecked now.

Four beads of blood made their way down his neck from where the soldier had broken the skin after Keith had tripped over his own feet, still lightheaded from before and not able to keep up with the soldier’s footsteps.

“What’s that?” his pressure on the now open wounds on his throat increased and more blood spilled down.

“N’thing.”

“That’s what I thought, keep walking!”

“Hunk?! We have a plan! Keep stalling if you can, just don’t let them get you into a cell or anything.”

He didn’t respond, he just keep walking with his hands at the back of his head.

The soldier would shove Keith occasionally if he stumbled or slowed. His throat had stopped bleeding for the most part and he’d caught his breath, but his arm remained twisted back so if the soldier shoved him too hard or walked too fast he had to shift to keep from crying out.

And when he couldn’t help but grunt or wince, the soldier would twist it further. He was certain something was broken with the way it throbbed and pulsed but couldn’t do much except try and anticipate what would end up making it hurt worse.

They walked for another minute until anything else happened. The soldier halting the group once again to speak into his communication device. Hunk hadn’t heard anything directed at him from Lance and Pidge from a while, just hushed acknowledgments and questions and orders.

“...what do you mean the doors are jammed, the doors don’t jam!”

Pidge.

“...yes, I still have them in my possession... I will be waiting at the east entrance then... well, update me when you do know!”

Yeesh. Hunk would have thought he was overhearing a domestic if he didn’t know better, smiling outwardly that Pidge’s hacking could muster up such frustration in the supposedly infallible galra soldiers.

It was a moment later when they had started walking again that Hunk heard what he’d been desperately hoping to hear.

“Hunk! It’s time. Please make sure no one tries to be a hero, thanks... okay, Pidge inbound in 3... 2...”

Hunk thought he might be as sick as Shiro had looked when he first started all this as he waited for whatever was about to happen to happen. He wasn’t sure what made him certain whatever was going to happen would be in front of them, so he wasn’t feigning the terror in his shriek when a door behind them clattered to the ground with a booming thud.

The soldier whipped around instantly, planting his back to the wall so he could eye what had just happened behind them while keeping his blaster trained on Shiro and Hunk.

There was nothing for a moment until Pidge’s grappling hook came hurtling towards them at the same time a vent above them clattered down. The soldier was bewildered at first but it soon became more that he was extremely pissed off and so he turned his gun back to Keith, the nozzle aimed at his leg.

“Welcome, green and blue paladins of voltron. Do come out and greet us properly, you’re just in time for the show,” the soldier delivered, firing his blaster before Pidge’s bayard wrapped itself around it and wrenched it from his grip.

Keith let out an inhuman sound before his legs gave out beneath him, but the galra lifted him before he could crumple entirely, maneuvering his writhing form so that he covered everything vital, effectively obscuring any shot Lance could find from his position in the air duct above them.

“Damnit,” he huffed over the coms, “Hunk I have no shot... not, not without going through Keith.”

Understanding washed over Hunk like he’d been flattened by a cement truck. He seriously would have to heave at some point, but knew that the next few moments were vital with the soldier’s claws still pressed to Keith’s neck.

Shiro was trying to reason with the soldier again, but everyone knew it was futile. The only reason Keith was still breathing was because he was holding out for backup, but with the circumstances growing worse and worse for the soldier, their hearts sank knowing full well the only way it would end for both of them.

The galra soldier would kill Keith if he grew desperate enough, in turn killing himself.

The hand that held the blaster moved to Keith’s side. The soldier couldn’t threaten to claw anywhere terribly vital with the awkward grip he had him in, all of his weight was being supported with the soldier’s arms under his armpits.

He had to bend his own neck to angle himself behind Keith’s hanging head, the paling boy only meeting the massive soldier’s chest with his shoulders.

Keith was eyeing the hint of blue peaking out of the vent above them, his face scrunching up with something other than pain for a moment before he met Hunk’s gaze.

“If there is one,” he croaked, his words now directed at the vent, “take it.”

“Sorry man,” Lance breathed.

Shiro didn’t even have time to make sense of what had just been said before the sound of a blaster echoed from the metal of the small vent above them.

Keith’s shoulder jerked forward violently as the blast tore through it, the soldier making a horrible gurgling sound before releasing him. He tumbled forward listlessly into Shiro who clutched him close and lowered him down slowly, a pool of blood forming quickly beneath him from the gaping wounds in his thigh and shoulder.

“We’ve gotcha buddy, everything’s okay now—“

“Shit, shit, shit!”

“What’s wrong Pidge?!”

The sound of metal clanging against metal rang through the hallway from where Pidge had been stationed.

“I’ve got... company... someone get here now!”

“I got it, you guys help the mullet,” Lance stated resolutely, tossing his bayard to the floor before gripping the edge of the vent, dangling his legs down and jumping.

He landed in a crouch, snatched the discarded blaster up as well as his own weapon and took off sprinting.

Hunk took one look at the scene in front of him and had to choke back bile. The dead galra soldier was slumped next to a lifeless Keith and agonized Shiro.

“-nk, HUNK! Come here, I need your help now!”

His feet moved without him even meaning them to, carrying him unsteadily to kneel beside his friends, his back to the soldier.

Parts of his armor were missing to reveal the still burning flesh of his blaster wounds, the black undershirt adequately melted into his flesh. Hunk’s stomach turned again.

There was so much blood beneath him...

And Keith was so pale.

The boy didn’t have much tint to begin with, but now his porcelain complexion resembled more of a grey, decaying one. Like he was already dead. Hunk fought more bile coming up his throat before he heard Shiro’s voice again.

“Did you hear what I just said? I need you to hold him down—“

“What?! Why?!”

“He’s bleeding too much... the blaster went clean through his armor from such a close range...”

Shiro’s eyes were focused but his face was set in a grimace, his tone solemn and finite.

“I-I have to cauterize the wounds...”

Oh...

Shiro looked at his prosthetic arm with disgust and Hunk realized what he was about to do.

“...or he’ll bleed out before we even get to the lions, not to mention getting out of here is going to be trickier than we planned... so I need you to hold him, can you do that?”

Hunk swallowed the salvia collecting in his mouth and nodded. His job wasn’t done yet. He’d set the rescue into motion, but his friends still needed him.

His gut was what saved them, Hunk wasn’t going to let it be what killed Keith.

“His leg first, it’s bleeding the most...”

Hunk slid down to Keith’s lower half. The wound was worse up close, angry and precise, the hole perfectly circular all the way through. He switched to breathing through his mouth before he discovered what burning flesh smelled like and compromised the whole effort.

Shiro’s hand blazed to life and his face fell over Keith’s, his eyes were slitted and glassy but very much open. Both boys wishing silently that he wouldn’t remain conscious for long once Shiro started.

“Keith? Hey, buddy. I have to do something to help you and I need you to stay as still as you can...”

Shiro shifted back into place at his legs once he nodded as best he could.

“This is going to hurt...” he moved his hand to hover over the wound and Keith closed his eyes.

“S’okay,” he assured with a shudder.

“I’m sorry.”

The sound that filled the hallway was earpeiercing. Hunk would have been concerned about it revealing their whereabouts had they not already been known.

Keith shook steadily, his entire body drenched in sweat within seconds. His eyes remained pressed closed and his hands were balled up in as much of a fist as they could make despite injuries to both arms.

Shiro was lifting his leg at the knee and pressing over the exit wound before Keith could regain his breath. The next scream was more of a howl, the pitch rising into something somehow more piercing than the last.

“Almost done,” Shiro offered as both of them repositioned themselves at Keith’s chest, Hunk’s hands falling to his good shoulder and opposite collarbone.

“Gimme... a second...” he huffed uneasily, fighting unconsciousness for the sake of the alternative, being woken up by yet another scorching burn from his brother’s alien prosthesis.

“M’kay... d-do it—“

Hunk was closer this time and had to use more leverage to pin Keith down, so he wasn’t as lucky when it came to avoiding the smell. He was forced to breathe in the terrible heat of his friend’s burning skin when the sight of the steam and melting flesh set him off and had him clamping his lips together before he spewed everywhere. He barely managed to choke his sick back down when the smell assaulted him seconds after.

All the while fighting his own reaction he also had to keep Keith steady. He was slighter than Hunk and injured but gave his friend a run of his money as he writhed. There was a pang in his chest at the thought of his grip leaving bruises with how forceful he had to be so Shiro could finish his work on the front of his shoulder.

Keith slumped down almost immediately after Shiro lifted his hand the third time, his head turning from side to side like he wanted to cry as he fought to stay awake again.

“Help me roll him on his side,” Shiro ordered as he began gently lifting Keith’s body. Hunk pulled at the same time and caught him, holding him in a sort of embrace when his trembling hand came to grab at his leg, letting his head fall against it once he found purchase.

He didn’t even complain about being pushed onto his broken arm, that pain was barely identifiable then.

“Last one...”

Keith didn’t cry out this time. He’d finally passed out, his head limp on Hunk’s leg as Shiro seered into his back with his purple heat.

Hunk couldn’t hold it back any longer and turned his head to the side to vomit. He thought he could hear Shiro choking down gags as well but waved the thought away as he tried his best to aim his mess away from the injured Keith still collapsed on his leg.

When he returned Shiro looked as green as him as he moved to slide his arms under Keith.

“We should go help the others, I’ll hang back with him while you cover us.”

Shiro spoke mechanically, like something else had taken over for the time being. Hunk didn’t question any of it though, he just let Keith be taken up and activated his bayard.

The scene they found where Pidge had been was an impressive one, their teammates hunched over on their knees in front of a dozen sentries sprawled in heaps and still smoking.

“Woah, d’the mullet look that bad before...?” Lance asked through thick inhales. Pidge looked up from her own recovery position and surveyed Keith’s limp form, her mind working over the missing armor now piled on his stomach and the dark patches that should be bleeding blaster wounds.

“He’s okay for now—we, er, handled the worst of it,” Hunk offered when Shiro remained quiet.

“We should start making our way to the next quadrant before the next wave arrives, from there it’s a straight shoot to our lions...” Pidge stated, “what are we doing about Red though?”

“She’ll know what to do, she probably knows something’s wrong, and if not Black can tow her, let’s move.”

They only met one other wave of sentries on their way to their lions, effortlessly slipping out of the galra ship before they could reconcile the systems Pidge jammed and detain them.

No one spoke much, Lance too weary to ask what had everyone so solemn and Pidge too wise for her own good, piecing it together on her own and knowing better than to open that can of worms there.

Hunk was as silent and withdrawn as Shiro, neither boy appearing all that present, though Hunk would respond when pulled back to reality with a question. Shiro didn’t. He held onto Keith like he was his lifeline, like if he let go the younger boy would disappear.

His gaze was unfocused and his jaw was set, like if he spoke or unfurled his brows he’d break.

Because he would. He held Keith the entire way back to the castle, Black and Red piloting for them both when he crumbled as soon as he’d set foot on Black’s ramp, finally letting loose the tears of guilt he harbored over having to hurt Keith who was basically his brother.

He was the closest thing to home Keith ever had. Not the house kind, more of the solid and unwavering warmth in knowing you have somewhere to come back to kind. Except for Keith his home was a someone.

All of that in one person... who’d abandoned him... twice.

And now he’d caused him unspeakable agony.

Sure it was to save him from bleeding out, but that detail meant nothing to Shiro then. You weren’t supposed to hurt family, not the way he had.

He held Keith close and wept. He wept for them both. He wept for it all. For the tragedies of their terrible pasts. For the scars scored into the uncertainty of their futures. For everything that was and everything that could be.

The tears were unrelenting. They fell over how the unwanted contraption that had saved his life was what saved Keith’s in the most excruciating way possible. The place where the alien metal met his flesh burned as he imagined Keith’s might, a crawling, itching fury that made him tremble.

His body shook for the fact that he had to lead a group of teenagers into war when they were far too young for such a responsibility. Eyes burned for how he had to do this so soon after his own hellish tragedy. His chest ached, his head pounded, his body tingled. He felt all of the feeling he had to push away to be stoic for them, for himself, because if he wasn’t... than who would be?

It was cathartic and healing. The guilt he had for hurting Keith still very much there and raw but the edge had been taken off so that it didn’t feel so heavy and horrible. He knew that he’d had to do it, he could see that now.

He composed himself just before Black landed, combing back the stringy rivulets of damp hair that blocked Keith’s eyes from view. They were closed and fluttering peacefully, his entire face so relaxed and free of anguish that it looked like he was dreaming. Shiro hoped it was something nice. Something not close to this, any of this.

Hunk looked like a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders when he saw Shiro emerge from Black with a sad smile on his face and not a blank, pained stare.

Allura and Coran were shocked to find Keith’s wounds in the state they were in once they got him to the infirmary, the entire team in awe of of all three of them once they discovered what he and Hunk did to save him.

“That explains the blood-curdling screams we were hearing,” Lance gaped.

“We were scared more sentries had dropped in on you after we heard the first one... figured something like that was going on though,” Pidge added.

“It might take a tick longer to get him into a cryosuit... the under armor suit is melted pretty severely into his skin. No fault to you, Shiro, it was likely already in such a way from the initial blast.”

“R-right...” he turned away then, stumbling as he tried to find a trash can but his stomach was churning and he couldn’t help it when he only managed to make it a couple feet away from the others before vomitting.

“Hey,” Allura stepped away from the exam table Keith was on, a slew of carts around him with instruments and supplies to take on the predicament.

“Don’t you think for a second that you are allowed to feel guilty about this.”

Her tone was firm and her voice soft as she pulled Shiro from the hole he’d slipped back into, her hand on his back as he wiped his mouth with the towel she’d handed him.

“You saved Keith’s life. He knows how you feel about your hand and that you’d do anything for him. You proved that is all. You should be proud of yourself, and of him for believing in you, like we all are.”

Shiro let out the air he’d been holding in, the breath felt like a rubber band snapping, any residual weight from guilt evaporating as if it’d never been there.

“Th-thank you, Allura.”

She smiled at him fondly, her hand cuping his face before moving to his shoulder and guiding him back to the table to assist in separating Keith from his under suit.

The three of them and Pidge all taking a wound, Lance and Hunk fishing them tools and cleaning away the debris they uncovered. Pidge’s tiny fingers proved more than useful when it came to the ridiculously precise bits.

Everyone was exhausted by the time his singed skin was free of all melted fabric.

“Good work back there guys, seriously,” Shiro directed his statement at Lance and Pidge once they’d gotten Keith in a pod and settled in for the long night, everyone pretty much refusing to leave his side for the foreseeable future.

“We would’ve been in some deep shit if you hadn’t taken over...”

Shiro leaned his head back against the door of the cryopod next to Keith’s, Pidge settled in his lap like a cat, her legs wrapped around Lance who was leaned heavily against an already half asleep Hunk.

“Well you’d stolen Pidge’s gig when you went all McGyver mode, but turns out she can hold her own just fine as the interim front line of voltron, who knew?—Owwh!”

“If anyone wants to congratulate me for withholding my vomit until after Shiro was done cauterizing Keith’s wounds,” Hunk yawned with a stretch, “I won’t stop you!”

“You did great Hunk, you orchestrated the entire rescue while I tried to play diplomat. Sometimes I forget whose supposed to be leading who sometimes.”

“We all learn from each other everyday we’re up here,” Allura mused as she draped several blankets over the bunch, tucking one in around Pidge and wrapping another over Shiro’s shoulders.

“Yeah, and you’re just the one we keep around because you have a valid license in case anyone asks—AHA, stop! I’m gonna cry, stop tickling me!”

Shiro eventually stopped, but only after she got the hiccoughs from laughing too aggressively.

The group fell asleep in a heap of blankets that night and returned to said heap the next night and the night after that. Shiro was the only one awake when Keith’s pod whooshed open early in the morning on the third day.

Coran couldn’t estimate when he’d pop out once it passed the time it suggested he’d needed for the internal stuff, staying in for 9 more hours to fully repair the burns and replenish his blood count.

He’d said he would probably be drained when he got out so Shiro being there was the only reason he hadn’t fallen straight to his face.

“Finally,” he laughed as he brought them both to the ground.

“Lance wouldn’t stop going on about how you’d chosen now of all times to listen to him about getting ‘proper beauty sleep’.”

Keith smiled tiredly, his eyes barely cracked open, heavy with exhaustion now rather than pain.

“Thanks for doing that back there... didn’t feel too great at the time—ha, but it was very needed.”

“Well someone’s gotta keep you idiots alive.”

“Glad it’s you, Shiro... hey... can-can I sleep now? M’really tired...”

“Yeah, you can sleep. I’ve gotcha, buddy. I’ve always got you.”

#keith whump #whumpee #vld #whump scenario #voltron legendary disaster #voltron whump #voltron fic #takashi shirogane #shiro/keith

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officialleehadan · 4 years

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Cheap Crap Lock

I hope it's been a good day for you so far! The year has turned, and 2021 is finally here!

Today's story was brought to you by Kat! I love all your comments, darling. I hope you love your story!

Prompt: Blood Spilled

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Popping a cheap prison lock had never been a problem for Sar. Among other things, he had been a thief before he ran across the Destiny that made him into a not-very-good hero. He might not have picks, but he wasn’t chained, and the lock, such as it was, was a joke.

It had a flat panel on the inside, which was probably bolted to the lock on the outside, but, like the rest of the lock, wasn’t particularly good. Sar felt around on the floor until he found part of a bone, no doubt left to unnerve the occupants, or maybe even as a taunt for Phaenist, who would have to bear the scent first of fresh blood, and then the body withering away. Whoever they had been, the bone he found was dry enough to serve as he needed it to.

“What are you doing?” Phaenist asked with curiosity. “I can see in this darkness, by the way.”

“Handy,” Sar told him, since it was. “Don’t suppose there’s any spare bits of metal handy?”

“Not unless you count my chains.”

“Not the kind of metal I need at the moment. Anything in here but bones?”

“No.”

It figured, but that was fine. The bone he already had would do the job well enough. It felt dry, which was ideal. He gathered his strength and smashed the bone into the stone wall. It shattered into several smaller shards, and he selected the largest. With a second bone as a hammer, he drove his improvised chisel between the fine steel of the door, and the cheap steel of the lock. As soon as he raised the bone-hammer, his ability kicked in.

Instant proficiency didn’t sound as heroic as immunity to darkness, or incredible magic, but in Sar’s opinion, it was a great deal more useful.

The cheap steel peeled away as he worked, until at last, the cheap, too-short bolts, now stripped by his effort, fell right off.

“You’re very good at that,” Phaenist noted. Sar grinned, now confident that the vampire could see him even thought he couldn’t see Phaenist at all. “Practice, I assume?”

“You assume correctly,” Sar told him. With the back of the lock revealed, he set himself to gutting the little mechanism, which was even cheaper than he thought and came apart easily. “Give me another minute to get this door open and I’ll see about your chains.”

Lock destroyed, the mechanism pocketed in case it would be useful later, Sar cautiously pushed on the door. The hallway was dark, but that wasn’t a surprise. Vampire castles usually were. He could hear movement in one direction, and considered the map of the keep he had made in his head on his way in.

It would probably be easier to deal with Phaenist if his new ally got a meal before he was free to go for Sar. He might not mean to, but Sar knew how the hunger worked for a vampire. Phaenist sounded rational, but if it had really been weeks since he fed, chances were good that his control was almost nonexistent at this point.

Fortunately, dungeons usually had guards, and Phaenist didn’t mind snacking on his own kid.

So Sar pushed the door open as far as it would go, stepped into the hall, and whistled shortly.

“Oh no!” he called dryly towards the sounds of movement. “I’m breaking out. Somebody had better come stop me before I escape.”

“Does that usually work?” Phaenist asked dubiously with no small amount of judgement in his voice. “I’m about to be very disappointed in Ztarva’s guards, aren’t I?”

“You’re not picky about how stupid your meals are, are you?”

“Not at the moment.”

As Sar expected, one of the guards, more cautious than he expected but still curious, came to investigate. At the sight of Sar, who was decidedly not in his cell, the vampire blurred out of sight. It was one of the few tricks all vampires got. Moving that way, Sar had no chance in a fight.

Fortunately, he wasn’t interested in a fight.

He stepped out of the way and yanked the heavy steel door into his place.

There was a spectacular clang as the vampire, who had not anticipated a steel door to the face, staggered back unsteadily. Sar didn’t give the vampire a chance to recover. He lifted the keys out of the vampire’s pocket and simply propelled them towards Phaenist with a single hard shove.

There was a short, broken-off shriek, a sickening crunch, and the sound of a vampire feeding, which was never terribly appealing. Sar politely ignored it until there was the notable sound of a body hitting the floor.

“You done?” he asked without looking in. He couldn’t see anything, and he was just fine with that. “You still need help getting out of the chains?”

“Yes please,” Phaenist said, sounding much stronger now. Sar stepped back into the cell and pulled the door shut just in case anyone came to check on them. Better to get a few moments of surprise than to risk being locked in again. “Don’t worry. This one won’t be a danger to anyone ever again.”

“That sounded pretty bitter,” Sar noted as he made his way to his ally’s side. “You gonna go for me if I get too close?”

“No. I’m still hungry, but with the blood of another vampire in my veins, I can wait.”

Handy. Sar hoped he wasn’t lying, and felt around. He didn’t yell when a hand closed around his wrist, but it was a close thing. He felt over the keys from the guard’s pocket, and tried each in turn until he felt the lock give. The second lock gave way just as easily. “That all of them?”

“There’s a collar too,” Phaenist said, invisible in the darkness, but he guided Sar’s hands. “I can’t see the lock.”

Sar felt around a little, until he discovered a little plate of metal that moved when he pushed it out of the way. It took two more tires to find the right key, and Sar spent the time hoping that Phaenist, who could absolutely reach his throat from here, had enough control to resist the smell of fresh human blood under his skin. Finally though, the clock clicked, and the collar fell to the floor.

“Right,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Just our escape,” Phaenist said with a definite smile in his voice now. It sounded like the kind of smile that meant a whole lot of trouble for someone else. Sar approved. “So. I assume you have some sort of plan for getting out of here. As long as it involves some murder, I’m in.”

+++

Blood Spilled:

Sar wasn’t planning to get captured by a vampire queen and have to save the world (again) but hey, if Destiny had a job for him, who was he to refuse?

High Bar

Mind the Hinges (Subscriber Only!)

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wombatnoms · 4 years

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Happy Vore Day! First Loki Vore Story!

*Heads up for some fearplay.

*Also vore warning. If you're not into that, why are you even on this blog?

*One last warning: mentions of digestion

A/N: About frackin time I finish this thing. I hope you guys enjoy. This is my first time completely writing out a vore fic. I struggle with endings, so if it sucks, blame it on that and not my writing skills 😜. Thanks for reading 💜

As you stare up at the being towering before you, you feel a mix of emotions. Fear is a big one. The fear of having something so large in front of your now two-inch form. To keep from freaking out, you choose to focus on the annoyance at yet another prank from the god of mischief. "Loki, you jerk! Put me back to my normal size!"

"What's that? It's difficult to hear you from so far away," he smirks as he bends down, plucking you up by the waist. He chuckles at the involuntary squeak you make. "How adorable. You sound like a little mouse."

"This isn't funny," you shout, kicking your legs. "Put me down!"

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then I'll kick your butt!"

"As entertaining as that would be, that might be difficult at your size."

You shove at his fingers, trying to climb on top of them to escape, "then turn me back!"

"So you can kick my butt? I don't think so. Besides," he moves you closer to his face, "we haven't had any fun yet."

Your heart skips a beat at this but you quickly try to mask it, "what... what kind of fun?" Your fear only grows as he gets a predatory grin and licks his lips. "You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?" He shifts to hold you by your wrists, raising you above his face.

Surely he won't do anything. He's pranked you plenty of times, but your life was never in danger. He's just trying to scare you... and it's working. "Loki..." your voice comes out much quieter than you planned, "Loki, this joke has already gotten old. Please just fix me so I can get on with my day."

"You're getting bored? Funny, I was too. We should just move things along. Make it more... interesting."

He begins to lower you. At first you're relieved, thinking he's going to set you down. That relief is instantly torn away from you as Loki opens his mouth and licks at your legs. You yelp at the feeling. "What is wrong with you!? Let me go!"

"Well, if you insist," he chuckles, his breath washing over you. Suddenly, you feel his grip on you release and you begin to fall, screaming all the while.

The drop doesn't last long as you land on the soft, wet muscle. You're unable to move, still in shock as you try to process what just happened. You regain your senses and start to scream, but are cut off as you're plunged into darkness. The darkness is accompanied by a soft click of teeth. You realize that Loki has closed his mouth.

Finally achieving the realization of what's going to happen, you start to thrash. In a panicked voice, you shriek, "leT ME OUT!" Your struggles are halted as you're pressed to the roof of his mouth.

Loki hums in delight at your movements, causing the "room" around you to vibrate. He easily tosses you around his mouth, as if enjoying a piece of candy. You fight against his powerful tongue, but you only succeed in tiring yourself out. Feeling that your body is much more limp, Loki stops, allowing you to catch your breath.

"Please... please let me out," you cry. You're devastated when there's no response. You're about to plead more, when light floods the moist cavern. You squint towards his now open mouth, framed by his teeth. Your only way to escape. You instantly start crawling towards the exit. You become a bit hesitant near his teeth, but the prospect of freedom is much more enticing.

You cautiously start trying to climb out. You manage to get the top half of your body out with little trouble. Elated, you go to pull yourself the rest of the way out. However, just as you begin to move, you're pinned between his lips. You scream in terror as he begins to lightly apply pressure with his teeth. You want to beg, "please! Let me go! I don't want to be eaten," but all that comes out is a distressed wail.

You think he might have actually understood what you were trying to say as he gently grabs your arms and drags you the rest of the way out of his mouth. You feel as if you'll be sick as your feet are pulled free with a wet pop. You feel absolutely pathetic as your soaked, bedraggled body dangles in front of his smirking face. "Tha- thank you," you pant.

"For what? I'm not finished with you yet." This time, he slowly drags his tongue up your body. Instead of a scream, the only sound you manage is a weak whimper. You realize he only wanted to see your fear. He continues to coat your body with saliva, licking long and slow. You're a mess, quietly sobbing, too tired to fight every time he presses you to his tongue.

"Aw, where did all that fight go? It's not as much fun when I can't feel your delicious wriggling."

You glare at him with as much malice as your tiny, exhausted body can muster. He chuckles at this, "I can see you still have some fight in you. You're just holding back on me. That won't do at all now, will it? I think I know what might provoke more of a reaction."

You're now being held by your ankles. He slowly begins lowering you into his open mouth, giving you a perfect view of the back of his throat. Just as Loki had wanted, you resume thrashing and screaming. He closes his mouth around your torso and drags you back out of his mouth.

Unfortunately for you, Loki seems to be getting bored of the teasing. "As fun as this is, I think it's time for you to see your new home." Ignoring the crying and screaming, he puts you back in his mouth, one last time.

You're doing whatever you can to keep from being eaten: clinging to his fingers, kicking at his lips, hitting at whatever you can reach. Nothing slows him down. He closes his mouth, once again leaving you in darkness.

"Loki, please! I don- I don't want to die," you sob. Your pleas fall on deaf ears as he swallows. Your legs are down his throat in an instant. "I'm begging you! Please, let me-" your cut off as he swallows once more. With a sickening gulp, you're completely encased in his throat.

You try to climb back out or at least slow your descent, but the tight pressure restricts your movement. Peristalsis kicks in and you're slowly forced further into his body. You feel an increased pressure against you that follows you as you descend. It doesn't take long for you to realize it's Loki's finger, feeling his treat as it heads to his stomach. You can only imagine how this looks from the outside as the little lump you create slips past his collarbone and all traces of you vanish from the outside world.

You give up fighting and feel utterly hopeless. To keep from freaking out any further, you try to distact yourself from your inevitable fate. You focus on the loud, powerful sound of Loki's heartbeat. This strategy works until you realize you're now able to move your legs. At first, you're thrilled with the increased mobility, until you realize it means you've reached the stomach. You give one last futile attempt to scrambke back up before plopping into the much more open space.

You decide to plead for your life one last time. You press at the walls of his stomach to get his attention, "Loki, you've taken this to far. Please, let me out! I don't care if you keep me small, but I don't want to be digested. Please..." Your pleas fade into crying.

There's no response at first. After a few seconds, you feel him gently pat at where you're sitting. "You're not going to die. Where's the fun in that?"

"I-I'm not?"

"No. Think about this for a moment: if you were sitting in acid, don't you think it would hurt or at least itch? I was tricking you."

You look at your arms and realize he's right. Your fear is replace by anger, "so you let me think I was gonna die just for a laugh!?"

"What other reason would I have?"

"I hate you sometimes," you grump, angrily kicking him.

"That's what makes tricking you so fun."

"Whatever. Are you gonna let me out now?"

"Of course not. It bothers you, so I'm going to keep you in there for awhile longer. You might as well make yourself comfortable."

With a huff, you lay back. Aside from it being a bit damp, his stomach is fairly comfortable. It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep with how exhausted you are from fearing for your life.

#fearplay #g/t vore #gt vore #soft vore #tiny vore #mawvel #loki gt #loki vore #vore day #wombatwrites

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delicatelyherdreams · 5 years

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Pragma(tic) 9: The Past Comes Back to Haunt Her

Pragma(tic) 8: He Gets Found Out (and a Phone Call)

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 4651

Warnings: Language; PTSD

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 8: He Gets Found Out (and a Phone Call)

The sky was blue and clear, not a single cloud in sight. The summer sun beat down on your back as you leaned over your work in the middle of the clearing. Your hands moved fast, your tongue was held in between your teeth as you concentrated, your brows knit together, and you focused. The world, the clearing, and the trees surrounding you melted away as you worked. Only your project mattered.

You spun something out of nothing, twirling your tiny, childish hands around the small, abnormally shaped ball that hovered midair. Red flowed from your palms, gravitating towards the center of your creation, and it stuck wherever it landed. It solidified as it hit the surface, adding to the shiny jewel that was forming in your hands. The gem was see-through, completely clear, but a satisfying shade of red that you loved. A small smile danced across your lips. Your mother was going to love this.

When it was finally the size of a small pebble, you stopped revolving your hands around your creation and instead brought them together in a cup beneath it. The red object fell through the air, landing in your palm.

You beamed down at it before standing, hiking up the skirt of your white chiton, and running over to the woman who was seated on a large rock at the edge of the clearing and was watching you with an amused gaze.

She was beautiful, perfect, the very definition of grace. Her rich dark hair was braided with gold and jewels (most of which you had created for her) and cascaded down her shoulder, coming to rest right above her heart. A gold chiton hung loosely from the titaness’ shoulders, covering her body while leaving her arms, shoulders, and collar bones out for the sun to kiss.

You scampered over to her as fast as your little legs would take you, holding the red stone out in front of you. “Mama!” you cried, your young voice filling the air. “Mama, look! I made another one.” You stopped at her feet and held it up.

Rhea smiled down at you and took the jewel from you. “So lovely, my darling,” she mused, holding it up to the light and gazing through it. The sun streamed through the jewel, casting a pink glow on her tanned skin. Her smile widened. “Wow! It’s clear all the way through.”

“I think it’s prettier like that, don’t you? It makes your face change colors!”

“So it does.” She closed her fingers around the jewel and pulled her braid closer to her. Her fingers worked to tuck it into the braid with the others. “Thank you, little one. It is beautiful.”

You bit your lip to hide your smile and sat cross-legged at her feet. “You’re welcome, Mama.”

Her eyes trailed over the stones her dark braid. Most of them were red. “You seem to like making the red ones the most. They match your eyes.” She chuckled softly and turned her gaze to you. “Do you have a name for your creations?”

You nodded, a smile brightening your face. “I think I wanna call them rubies. I dunno why, it’s just a nice name for the red ones.”

Your mother hummed. “Well, be absolutely sure that that is what you want to call them. Once you give them their name, that will always be their name. They are your creation and what you say goes.”

You frowned up at her, your gaze curious and confused. “What do you mean, Mama; ‘what I say goes?’”

She grinned slyly like she knew something you didn’t—which she probably did. “Come with me, my child, and I shall show you.” She reached down and took your tiny hand in hers.

You stood up and walked with her.

She led you through the trees, stepping over fallen logs and helping you over them too. You didn’t know where she was taking you, but you didn’t care. You just loved spending time with your mother.

She was the best mother there was, always there to love you and hug you and squeeze you tight. She loved you, and you loved her.

Rhea guided you through the trees over to a new clearing, but this one wasn’t surrounded by trees. This one was a cliff that came to a point. She took you right up to the edge.

From up there, you could see a vast majority of the land that you lived in. You could see rolling hills taking over the whole area, with small dots nestled in the valleys and near the sea. Each dot was a village that held many people. You’d often sneak down to watch them

Your mother stopped you at the edge of the cliff and sat down, beckoning you to sit on her lap. “What do you see, my dear?”

You sat down on her thigh and leaned back into her chest. “I see people. It’s the Mortal World, right?”

“Yes. This is the land known as Sicily. And who lives there?”

“The mortals.”

“Very good. Now, you know that you are not a mortal. You’re an immortal, what the humans would call a god, or, in your case, a goddess.”

You turned your eyes up to her, sparkling with curiosity. “Are you a goddess, Mama?”

She laughed. “No. I am a titaness. I am older than the gods, but that’s not important.” She plucked one ruby from her hair and offered it to you. “Because you are a goddess, you get to control some aspects of the world. You are a goddess of wealth, and so these jewels that you create will be worth a lot. The names you give them will be used by mortals everywhere because they are yours. It is one of your powers, and more will develop as you grow older. It is a great responsibility to bear.”

You frowned. “But I’m just a kid.”

“You may have only aged seven years, my child, but you are still their god nonetheless, and they will worship you just the same.” She chuckled. “I know you will be a great goddess. You will go down in their stories as one of the greatest in history.”

You giggled. “I hope so, Mama. I wanna be a good goddess. Do you think the mortals will like me?”

“It is hard to tell, my child. But so long as you stay just, benevolent, and fair, I’m sure they will.”

You opened your mouth to ask her something else, but you were stopped by a loud crash and the earth shaking. You shrieked as you fell off your mother’s lap, sprawling on the ground.

Your mother blanched and shot to her feet, staring at something in the distance. “(y/n), hide.”

“Mama, what—?”

“Go!” She grabbed you by your wrist and threw you towards the tree.

You obeyed, running into the trees to hide beneath one. Looking back out at the clearing, you saw your mother grow larger, her height soaring until she was giant. So tall, was the titan’s true form, that she towered above everything else, even mountains. When your mother was at her full height, you hardly came up to her big toe. She rarely used this form with you (unless you wanted to say hi to the birds) because you hated feeling small and insignificant. You’d only seen this form once or twice, and only when he came around.

You turned your head over your shoulder, almost too scared to look.

You could see him. He was always in his full size. You saw his monstrous form towering over everything, but you couldn’t make out any distinct features. He was all black. He marched towards your hiding spot and your mother, undoubtedly glaring.

“Kronos,” your mother purred, trying to mask the fear in her voice with seduction. “To what do I owe this pleasure, my darling husband?”

“You know why I’m here.” His deep voice thundered over the valley, startling birds out of their nests. “I want her.”

“Wh-Who?”

You frowned at the time, filled with confusion. You knew she knew he was talking about you, but you would later realize that she was trying to protect you.

“Our daughter,” he hissed. “She has been allowed to roam the earth too long. She should’ve been dealt with right after she was born. Instead I was soft and allowed you some time. Now I have come to collect. Give her to me.”

Your mother bit her lip and shook her head. “No! I can’t. She’s just a child.”

“A child who will destroy us.” His face was black, not a single feature was visible, but you could’ve sworn that his eyes flashed red. “Now give her to me! I know you have hidden her near. You never stray too far away from your precious child.” His head turned down, and you knew he was searching for you. His eyes pierced the very trees before you felt them settle on you. You could hear the smile in his voice as he cooed, “Found you.”

A black hand appeared out of nowhere, plucking you from your hiding spot by the back of your chiton.

You screamed as the ground disappeared from beneath your feet, twisting and turning in a struggle. All you could cry out was, “Father! No! Please, no!”

“Kronos! Let her go! She’s just a child!” your mother wailed, suddenly at his side and clinging onto her husband’s arm as she tried to wrench you from his grip. You could see the fear for your life in her eyes.

He sneered down at her, his eyes turning red with agitation. “She won’t be a child for long. I must contain her while I can.” Then, with a swift motion, he yanked his arm out of Rhea’s grasp, causing her to fall to the ground, and opened his mouth, bringing you closer and closer to his lips.

With a sickening drop of your stomach, you knew—in your young, tiny heart—you knew what he was about to do. You screamed as you panicked. “Father, please! I don’t wanna go in there! I’ll be good! I’ll be a good girl! Just please don’t.”

His mouth didn’t move, but you could hear his voice clear as day in your head. “I’m sorry, little one. But I have no choice. I cannot kill you, so I must contain you.”

You continued to approach his mouth and you were starting to grow frantic. “Father! Please! Don’t!” Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you struggled and writhed, but your efforts were fruitless. He didn’t stop. “Father!” you tried again, begging him to spare you. “I’ll be good! I’ll be a good god! Just, please! Father! Dad! Daddy, please!”

But he only brought you closer to his mouth until you were hovering right over the opening. And, before you knew it, you were falling. He had dropped you and the wind was soaring past your ears. The fleshy pink of his gullet encompassed your vision, covering more and more of what you could see until there was no light left. As you plunged into the darkness, you could hear only two things: the sounds of your mother’s wailing, and your own screams of pure terror as you fell down, down, down—into the pit of your father’s stomach.

———

“NO!”

You sat bolt upright in your bed, the sheets clinging to your body with a cold sweat. Your chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow panting and your panicked eyes darted all around you. It was black, just as black as your prison.

“Light!” you summoned, holding out your hand. A scarlet fire erupted over your palm, casting a dim glow over the room. You waved your hand all over, shining light on the furniture that made up your bedroom. It took you a good moment to realize that you were at your own home rather than in your father’s stomach, and when the realization finally settled on you, you were only slightly less panicked than you had been.

Releasing the ball of red fire to drift around the room, you threw the covers off of your body and began to pace the hardwood floors. Your sports bra and sleep shorts were damp with your own sweat, and the night air hitting your skin made you shiver, but you didn’t care. Your mind was elsewhere.

He’s not here. He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s in Tartarus. He’s locked up. You’re safe.

But you didn’t believe the thoughts one bit.

You still felt like you were falling. You could still feel the wind rushing past you. You could still hear the screams—your screams.

Your chest grew tight, like a hand was crushing your heart. You winced at the pain, trying to push it deep down.

You shoved your fingers through your hair, taking a fistful and tugging. The dull pain usually helped you focus in on reality, but this time it seemed to do nothing. You were still trembling, and you had no hope of calming down on your own.

You needed something alive. Cerberus was out of the question because he was on his shift guarding the borders. Peggy was also out because she was there too. You needed someone else; someone to talk you down, someone to tell you what your mind was already saying.

Brock, of course, was the first person you immediately thought of, but upon further deliberation, he probably wasn’t the best choice. He didn’t like it when you were too emotional. He was always awkward and stiff around you when you tried to talk to him about your past or about your nightmares. He hated it.

You pulled harder at your hair, the squeezing in your chest only tightening and crushing your heart.

You needed someone who could listen and make you feel better. You needed someone who could be trusted with the more sensitive side of you. You needed—

You stopped dead in your tracks. Your head turned slowly towards your phone, which was sitting dark on your nightstand. You had his number, he’d said that you could call him anytime you needed. Well, if there was ever a time you needed him, it was now.

Your feet were moving before you knew it, and you were unlocking your phone and pulling up Bucky’s contact just as quick. You pressed “call” and held the phone up to your ear.

As you heard the dial tone, you had to wonder: was Bucky even still up? Were you disturbing his sleep or was he still awake? Would he be bothered—

“Hello?”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts and your jaw went slack. Holy shit, he’d actually answered.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck; what the fuck do you say? “Hey, Buck. It’s (y/n). You know, the scary Queen of the Underworld? Yeah, listen. I just had a nightmare and I’m acting like a toddler and need you to calm me down.” That was laughable and pathetic. This whole situation was pathetic. You should’ve just hung up and called it a night, but your heart wouldn’t let you.

“Hello?” he called again, his voice teeming with worry.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and whispered, “B-Bucky?”

You could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. “(y/n)? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He was definitely concerned now, and—although you felt bad for making him worry—it was comforting to know he cared.

You shoved your hand through your hair again and squeezed your eyes shut as you sat down on your bed. You could still see the faint red of the fire floating around behind your eyelids, but it was little comfort. Your voice trembled as you stuttered, “I-I…” You mentally cursed yourself. You couldn’t even form a damn sentence in your frazzled state.

“It’s alright, Doll. I’m here now,” Bucky soothed, trying to coax you into speaking. “Use your words. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“I… I need you.” Admitting your need was crushing and you could feel your muscles stiffening as the severity of the fear inflicted by the nightmare finally dawned on you. It felt like your whole body was atrophying like you were turning to stone. Within moments, you would be frozen in place as the panic truly set in.

“I’m on my way.” The line went dead as he hung up, plunging you back into the silence of your mind.

You couldn’t tell if it was better or worse to be in the quiet room, but the only real comfort you had was that Bucky was coming.

And, sure enough, you heard rumbling overhead—the telltale sign that signaled the ceiling of the chasm opening up above you. A loud thud resonated outside your house; something heavy had just fallen into the Asphodel Meadows. You were so frozen on your bed that you couldn’t even make yourself stand up to go to the window to see if it was him. You could hear footsteps running across the fields, growing closer until they were right outside your door. From there, the front door opened and you could hear footsteps bounding into the entryway before coming to a stop. It only then dawned on you that Bucky had never been in your home and that he probably wouldn’t know where your room was. You wanted to yell for him, scream his name, something, but your voice was locked in a cage at the base of your throat. You wanted to stomp on the ground, jump up and down, to do anything, but you were stone. You could not move.

The footsteps began to move again downstairs and you heard him shuffling around.

Find the staircase, Bucky.

You prayed to any higher being there was that he would find you, you needed him so badly.

Please, Buck. It’s right by the door. I know it’s dark, but you can find it. Right up the stairs. My room is the whole floor. Please. Please hurry.

As if listening to your silent directions, the footsteps neared the staircase and began to mount them. You could tell he was on his way up because you heard the creak of the fifth step up. No matter where you stepped, it always creaked. The thudding grew louder as he grew closer until he finally reached the door. That too creaked open as he moved it ever so slightly, and he called out in a quiet, careful voice, “(y/n)?”

You would’ve sobbed with relief if you could but the lump in your throat was still preventing you from speaking.

He began to enter the room, rounding the wall that separated your sleeping area from the rest of your chambers. When he saw you, he called your name again. Receiving no answer, he began to approach you as one would an easily startled animal.

Which, if you were honest, you probably were at that moment.

He continued to walk towards you until he was right at your side. “(y/n)?” he said again, his voice gentle, comforting, loving. He sat down next to you and the mattress dipped with his weight. “(y/n), I’m here. It’s me. Bucky. I’m here. It’s okay; you’re safe now.” He hesitantly reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder.

You flinched at the unexpected contact and your head snapped to the side to look at him, your eyes undoubtedly wild with the fear from the nightmare.

He didn’t jump at your sudden moment but the worry in his eyes only increased.

You scanned his face, taking in every detail. It helped to ground you. His blue eyes seemed purple from the rouge light floating in the room and his skin had turned ghostly. His features were contorted with worry, confusion, and care. He cared about you, wanting to make sure you were okay. He’d dropped whatever he was doing just so he could rush to your side and make sure you were safe. It was the most that anyone had done for you in a long time.

You didn’t realize tears were streaming down your face until Bucky’s large hand cupped your cheek and his thumb wiped the liquid off your skin.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as his thumb traced small circles over your cheek. “It’s alright, I’m here now.”

At that, you broke.

Tears began rolling down your cheeks in an abundance, the torrent never ceasing. You sobbed, and you sobbed, and you sobbed. Silent screams escaped your mouth as you cried into Bucky’s shirt. Your tears soaked his shirt, but you didn’t care. The crying was relieving; you couldn’t remember the last time you just let it all out like this.

Bucky simply held you. His arms had wrapped around you at some point, and he pulled you close into a hug. You were sitting in his lap, his arms were holding you close, and his chin was resting on the top of your head. He was rocking you from side to side as a mother would her child, doing his best to comfort you.

You were surprised at how well it was working. Normally, it would take you hours to calm down, but, with Bucky—with whom you’d only spent a handful of blissful evenings—it was mere minutes.

Soon you were just sitting there, sniffling in his arms.

He pet your hair and continued to rock you, mumbling, “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You nodded your head, pulling away from him just enough to peer up at his face. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

His eyes narrowed at you and his head cocked to the side. “What for?”

“For bothering you.” You dragged the back of your hand across your nose. “And for crying all over you. You shouldn’t have seen me like that.”

“Like what?”

You couldn’t believe he was making you spell it out. “Like a mess. I’m a queen. I’m supposed to be calm and collected and I was sobbing like a baby.” You shook your head with a bitter laugh. “I’m pathetic.”

“No, you’re human.” Bucky brought his hand up under your chin and lifted your head so you were looking at him. “It’s normal to cry and feel sad. It’s normal to be scared. No one is immune to it, not even the badass Queen of the Underworld. Everyone is scared of something.” He tilted his head to the side, his lips quirking up into a gentle smile. “Don’t ever be afraid to be afraid around me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” He shifted so you were closer to him on his lap.

Your head once more fit right under his chin. With your ear pressed to his chest, you could hear the faint beating of his heart and you couldn’t help but dwell on how nice this was.

You never got this with Brock. Tender touches didn’t seem to be a part of his vocabulary. But, with Bucky, this felt natural and good. You felt safe in his arms and that was nice.

Bucky allowed you to sit in the silence a bit longer before finally asking, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated. “Mmm, kind of do, kind of don’t.”

“Which ‘kind of’ is winning?”

Your lips formed a tight line. “Kind of do,” you answered truthfully because you did want to talk about it. Your family had begged you to talk about it for years, insisting that it could help you cope. “It’s therapeutic,” your youngest sister had said. “Mortals do it all the time. Talking about your trauma helps reduce it.”

“I’m not traumatized,” you’d insisted.

But you both knew that was a lie; the nightmares were living proof that your childhood had impacted you in a big and not-so-good way.

Bucky glanced down at you, his own lips forming their own line. “I can listen if you want to talk it out. I’m good at that.”

You breathed a chuckle. “I bet you are.” Letting out a heavy sigh, you peeled yourself out of Bucky’s arms and moved so you were sitting cross-legged on your bed. “You might as well get comfortable; it’s a long-ass story.”

He hardly moved. “I’m ready.”

You bit your lip and nodded. “Alright.” Pausing to take a deep breath, you began with, “My childhood was fucked.”

He snorted.

“Hey, don’t laugh!” You crossed your arms and hunched over in a pout. “I’m trying to share something deeply personal here.”

“I know! I know! I’m sorry. Just, you were so blunt. I was expecting some sort of build up, but you just came out with that and I… I know I shouldn’t laugh, but I couldn’t help it.”

You tried your damnedest to fight the smile that was rising on your own lips, but you failed miserably and found yourself smiling with him. “Get yourself together, Buck. I’m serious here. My childhood definitely falls in one of the bottom three childhoods of all time. The… The myths got it mostly right, but they were always hazy on the details. They said that my father, Kronos, ate me right after I was born; they were wrong.” You lifted your eyes to the ball of red light that was still dancing around your room. “I was seven. Old enough to have some experience, old enough to know that I had parents and that I loved them, but not old enough to understand why my father didn’t love me back. My mother never let me around him; she said he was a bad man. I didn’t understand. How could someone I love be bad? My seven-year-old brain was just barely comprehending the fact that I was going to live forever, I had no ability to process just how bad my father was.

“I knew that he was my father in the way that I knew my mother was my mother. I knew that he was someone important to me, and that I loved him and wanted to please him and make him proud. So, every day, I did my best to be a good kid, to be something he could be proud of. I thought that could make him love me.” You hung your head in shame. “But, no matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t understand why he ate me. I didn’t understand why he hated me so much as to try and kill me. I didn’t know what I did to deserve living in isolation for over a decade in his stomach. There is nothing quite like being totally on your own, Bucky; to not know what you did wrong but to be punished anyway. It does things to your mind and I…”

“You still dream about it, don’t you?” he asked softly. “That’s why you were so scared.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I relived the whole thing again. I’m a grown woman, with more than two thousand years of experience, and I still get spooked by nightmares.”

“Everyone is scared by something,” he murmured. “Your thing is what happened to you in your past.”

“Yeah…” You took a deep breath and pulled your knees up to your chest.

Bucky looked at you, his eyes scanning over your face. Suddenly he stood and rounded the bed to your side. “Come on; let’s go.”

You blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come on!” He offered you his hand. “We’re going out. It’s the best remedy for a nightmare. You get to go around and do things and forget all about the bad dreams.” His smile was warm and filled with promise.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a secret but,” grinning down at you, he held his hand out further, “do you trust me?”

You stared at his outstretched hand, a small flame igniting inside your chest at the prospect of adventure, and you took it. “I do.”

Next 10: She Sees the World in a New Light

#bucky barnes #pragma(tic)#hades and persephone #hades & persephone #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you

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destinys-dragon · 4 years

Text

A Battle for All

Characters: Patton, Logan, Roman, Remus, Janus, Virgil

For: @littlebigmouse

Warnings: Gore, Extreme Gore, Unsympathetic Patton, Unsympathetic Janus, Unsympathetic Logan, Major Character Death, Betrayal, Body horror/gore

Words: 2,500

Hey Mouse, Merry Christmas & Happy New Year! I was your gifter this year for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange and I gave you a super hero Au with a side of gore [Or rather a main course of gore] I hope you enjoy it!

This was it, the battle for all the marbles, or as Morality said, "All the cookies in the cookie jar." Whatever you wanted to call it, this was the most important battle. Here and now, would decide the fate of the world. Sure, you hear that in all the superhero movies to get the action and the thrill up, even if the heroes always win in the movies. This though, this was very, very real, and all the heroes could feel a deep fear fill them. It wouldn't stop them from protecting the entire world, and they would do everything to make sure that the world was saved. It was still an unsettling feeling, to be staring potential death straight in the face, your future becoming less clear by the second.

Sanders University, the place they were meant to defend, held the key to world domination, at least to the Troublesome Twosome that was Deceit and Logic. The university was famous for its advanced technology, some of which could give normal humans pseudo-Superpowers, putting them on an even playing field with natural born Supers. The Twosome's plan was to engineer as much superpowered technology as possible, to create an army of villains that would help them conquer the entire world. First they would start with the University itself, but with how much super-tech was in there already, they wouldn't have trouble building a small army to defend it while they work on bigger projects.

The Prince stood on one end and the Duke on the other. In between them stood Anxiety and Morality, their healer and shield respectively. The Duke was holding a thunderbolt in one hand, preparing to throw it should the villains pull any tricks. Prince was holding a pen in his hand, preparing to draw up a weapon or something that would protect them. Anxiety had his hand out, ready to heal the team and get them back to the fight. Morality was empty handed at the moment, giving the villains a smile as if they were just naïve children instead of people bent on world domination.

"Now kiddos," Morality started, holding his arms out in a gesture of peace. "We really don't have to fight today. If you would just willingly come with us we can help you," he assured, making sure his voice would sound even and calming. "Please, don't do this. It would only end in disaster and chaos for everyone, including you two."

Deceit chuckled quietly, which cued Logic to break out in maniacal laughter. Morality cringed and even the Duke shuddered, which was uncommon since he was rather creepy in his own right. Prince and Anxiety looked unamused, even if Anxiety's hand fell to his side, where a short sword, crafted specifically for him by Prince, rested on his hip.

"Oh Morality, darling~" Deceit purred, elbowing his laughing companion in the stomach, who wheezed and went silent, rubbing his stomach as if that would make the pain go away. "That's exactly what we want. Chaos and disaster are what will help us take over this worthless world. Soon, oh so soon we will rule and you will be powerless to stop us! Now, get out of our way and we may spare your lives, if you beg that is." He waved his arm in a big gesture to the building behind the trio of heroes, the one that held the key to their dream.

"Never!" Prince snarled, a sword held in his hands. "We shall never let you get past any of us! We will put our lives on the line to protect the world we love! You'll never win, so give up now and walk away!"

That made Deceit laugh again, wiping a tear from his eye with a gloved hand. "Oh Prince, foolish fool, you will be made to eat your words. I can assure you of that. Logic, if you will."

Logic stepped forward, snickering as he pulled out a remote with a single, red button. He pressed it, causing a dozen cars to crumble and meld together. After a few seconds a giant metal golem stood behind the Duo. Logic cackled, covering his mouth as he snorted. "Be-ha- prepared to meet m-my greatest creation to date, the car golem!" He announced, pointing forward. "Go! Wreck, maim, DESTROY!" He shrieked, doubling over with laughter.

The golem seemed to come to life, surging forward towards the heroes. It was coming fast, intent on ending the battle and the heroes once and for all. It had no mind, no heart, no soul. It had a purpose though, a sole purpose it was destined to complete. End the heroes and leave not even a single one standing.

Morality stepped in front of everyone and summoned a giant dome shield, covering all four of them. Prince and Duke stood behind Patton, while Anxiety put all his energy and focus into keeping Morality's shield strong, which meant using all he had to heal it.

"When I lower the shield go for the weak spots in it's limbs!" Morality shouted, crying out when the Golem pounded on the shield, putting a giant crack in it. They all heard Anxiety let out a sharp exhale, slowly forcing the crack to close. "Damage the legs and arms, rendering it useless!"

"Yes Sir!" "Yes Daddy!" The twins spoke in unison. Morality couldn't help hide an eyeroll at the Duke, but now was not the time to lecture him on his inappropriateness.

"Ready?" He asked, taking a breath. "GO!" He cried out, forcing the shield to burst outward, which made the golem fall back. Morality fell back at the force he used to push the golem back, Anxiety quick to Morality's side to heal him and boost his energy.

The second the shield went down, Prince took towards the right and Duke went left. They were in perfect sync, each summoning their sacred weapons, a paintbrush and a bolt of lightning respectively, charging forward and removing it's limbs.

Prince let out a loud cry, circling around the golem and fleeing the scene. The circle glowed green and vines, flowers, and even tree branches sprouted around it, quickly tying the golem up. The thing let out a loud, metallic screeching noise of distress, before the Duke acted.

He took the precious time where the golem was immobilized and used the pulsing thunderbolt in his hands to slice and dice it's arms and one leg off. The golem continued to shriek and cry out, thrashing around with it's one leg, until Morality came through.

He had moved forward, leaving Anxiety in the back to watch their back. He summoned a small shield, one that was a simple circular shape, save for the spikey thorns and notches in it. He threw it as hard as he could, watching as the killer frisbee cut halfway through a leg, rendering it a mostly useless, twitching lump to the golem.

It continued to try and get to the heroes, but it only managed to flop around uselessly. It was rather useless, slowly going still as it died.

"Fuck yeah!" Duke cheered, before letting out a choked cry as a large snake plunged through his chest. His eyes went wide and he coughed out a sickening mixture of spit and blood, slowly going down on his knees. He reached out, as if to beg for help, his body going still as the snake again plunged through him, tearing his throat in half. His mouth was moving as if attempting to speak, before he fell face down, poised in a silent scream.

Deceit stood behind him, wiping his gloves with a white cloth. It was covered in a layer of blood, but the cloth cleaned the majority off. He tossed it on the corpse, looking at the heroes, who were looking at them in a mixture of shock, fear, and horror.

It was broken as Morality let out an ear piercing shriek, followed by Prince crying out in absolute anguish.

"Remus!" He shrieked, struggling to breath and looking like he was moments away from fainting. "Oh gods, Jesus god WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" He cried out, Patton's shrieking sobs becoming a dull noise to him as his rage filled. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

He charged forward, unaware that the Golem was sliding painfully slowly towards Patton. He continued moving towards Janus, aiming punch after punch, kick after kick at the monster who murdered his brother. Deceit only dodged out of the way, not even bother to strike him.

Eventually, he ducked behind Prince, sweeping his legs out from under him. "Oh dear Princey, don't worry, you'll see him soon," Deceit purred, stomping on the hero's back, relishing in his shrieks of pain. "But look, here." He bent down, grabbing Prince by the hair and pulling his head up to make him look towards Morality.

Morality was on his knees sobbing. The golem was squirming closed to him, using it's half destroyed leg to slowly roll itself over. Roman was shrieking and begging Morality to do something, only to watch as Anxiety sailed past him, sprinting like his life depended on it. "No Virgil stop!" He begged, not wanting to lose two friends and his brother, he wasn't sure if his heart could take it.

Roman could only watch in horror as Virgil shoved Morality, the golem landing on top of the healer, crushing him to death. Roman let out a scream of pure anguish just as Logic began cackling with glee. He couldn't see Morality from behind the golem, but he was so sure that both of them were dead.

Logic danced around, watching the golem start to become consumed by rust. After it was fully rusted, it broke apart into dust, falling to the ground in large, clumpy piles. Even the limbs that were cut off were turned to dust as well. And Virgil? He was laying on the ground, flattened into a bloody clump of human and clothes. The lump didn't even look remotely human, but Prince found he couldn't look away, and he was glad he didn't.

There, next to what was Virgil, was Morality. He was alive and well, Roman hadn't lost everything! He went to call out, only to watch as Morality spit on Virgil's remains, climbing to his feet. "God, I can't believe he was that stupid. Though I suppose his foolish need to jump into bravery was admirable," he commented, brushing himself off. He reached down and grabbed something off of Virgil's remains, but Roman couldn't tell what it was.

Morality walked slowly, painfully slowly, over to Roman, who was confused. He let out a cry when his hair was let go and his face met painfully with the pavement. He ended up biting down on his tongue on the way down, causing his mouth to fill with a metallic tasting liquid. Blood, he thought distantly, but he wasn't able to comprehend it with how quickly his brain was shutting down.

He was rolled over, coming face to face with Morality. "P-Patton?" he croaked out, spitting up a glob of blood that got onto his pure white suit, or a suit that had been pure white. Now it was caked in dirty, boot prints, and even his own blood.

"Oh Princey, sweet sweet Roman," He cooed, brushing his thumb over Roman's cheek. "You're an absolute fool." Patton slowly held up the short sword, Virgil's short sword, pressing it against Roman's throat. He let out a soft whimper, unable to stop the noise from leaving his lips.

"Why?" He choked out, spitting a glob of blood onto Patton's suit. He saw his leader, former leader, cringe but shrug it off after a moment.

"I'm so tired of being treated like the innocent little healer on your team. I can't tell you how many times you've just left me to get captured, used me as bait...you even used me as a human shield once or twice instead of our actual shield, the guy who can make them out of thin air." He grabbed Roman by the chin, forcing the hero to meet his eyes. "I'm not meant to be bait or a human punching bag to protect you selfish lot. I am my own powerful person, stronger and better than all three of you worthless buffoons. I may have been your leader, but I was treated like trash by all three of you. But now....now that won't happen ever again!" Patton chirped, a bright cheery, but equally eerie, smile on his face.

Roman heard Deceit chuckle, looking away from Patton to watch as the villain walked towards the university, Logic right on his heels. He watched as Logic's lips moved quickly, mostly likely talking about whatever wicked plans he wanted to try on poor unsuspecting people.

"Don't take too long, darling!" Deceit called, loud enough for the pair to hear. “We need to get our plans into motion, we've already been set back quite a bit."

"Yes Deceit, I understand," Patton assured, looking back at Roman, who was petrified with fear. "I'm so sorry Roman, but this is your final scene. The curtains have been called and your act is through," he whispered, plunging the knife deep into Roman's chest.

Roman coughed up blood, reaching with one hand to try and pull it out to no avail.

Patton looked rather bored, but delighted at the same time. "This is goodbye Roman, I can't say I'll miss you or any of the others." He gave Roman a big smile, his deep brown eyes looking more golden as he twisted the knife that was lodged in Roman's chest, twisting it to cut deeper into the hero's body.

He felt Roman slowly going limp, the last few strings that he used to cling to life snapping as he let out his final breath. Patton shuddered in pleasure as he felt the man's last breath tickle his neck. He felt a rush, a thrill, he felt almost drunk on this feeling. He let a small grin cross his features, cackling as he pushed the corpse off him. Rising to his feet he felt a need, a deep hunger for more. He wanted more, he needed more of this feeling.

Patton licked his lips, groaning as the few stray drops of Roman's blood hit his taste buds. That felt good. So very, very good.

He brushed himself off, walking towards the University with a smile on his face. He had a mission after all, and world domination sounded just as glorious as crushing these pitiful heroes. Maybe more would come to play with them, that would be fun. If he were lucky, Deceit would let him keep one as a treat, a very special one just for him. Patton had to prove himself, and now that he was seen as an equal, he was never going to disappoint Deceit. He was going to show he earned his spot, and earn his spot he would.

#unsympathetic patton #unsympathetic janus #unsympathetic logan #sympathetic remus #tw major character death #major character death #major character injury #gore #extreme gore #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #unsympathetic deceit #dessy writes

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